Or Never
by Loves Ironic Tragedy
Summary: You ever get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach? This is where it comes from. AkuRoku & Marxene - Matchstick Houses sequel
1. Fairytales

**Note:** If you didn't read Matchstick Houses, I strongly suggest reading it. This will make so little sense if you didn't. I mean, you can try but it's not a good idea.

**Or Never**

**Fairytales**

_My skin feels like it's burning off, peeling away from my body layer by melted layer. I open my mouth to scream at the top of my lungs, but nothing comes out. The numb stinging runs up and down my nervous system, leaving charred veins wherever its disgusting feet tread. Is my body being pulled apart? Is a saw slicing through my limbs? Is someone going to stop this death? Will no one rescue me?_

_A small hand rests on my shoulder._

_Then the pain stops._

_My deep emerald eyes flutter open. Before me stands a lovely brunette with a braid running down her back and bangs that remind me of someone else's in a way. Who was the other girl that wore their bangs that way? Was it... Relane? Yes! Relane had the same bangs only backwards and less attractive. This girl before me is not as bony as Relane and is far more beautiful than Isa's sister ever could be no matter how much make up she slapped on._

_"Axel," a motherly voice calls out to me. It does not belong to his mother, though. It positively cannot. My mother is alive and well, unlike me. I suppose you could call me 'dead and just fine'. _

_I died a year ago._

_Well technically it is somewhere between a day and a year. Does it matter? When you are dead time does not matter at all. I have nowhere to go; nothing to do. I could always go bother Roxas, but sometimes he gets irritated with me for randomly popping in on his life._

_"Axel, look at me," the woman before me requests sweetly. I comply and stare up into her large blue eyes. "That's better. How are you feeling?"_

_I groan as I prop myself up on one arm. "That depends. How long have I been dead?" I retort, scratching my ever-spikey, fiery hair. It feels noticeably shorter. Huh. That is weird._

_The woman tilts her head and smiles. I realize she looks like no more than a girl. She is long and lean, soft-faced and her hand on my bare shoulder is even softer. "However long you think is probably right," she says sheepishly._

_So about a year then…_

_"Who are you?" I ask the woman, "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"_

_She laughs openly, smiling in a heart-stopping way. "You ask too many questions," she tells me. "I want nothing from you; just to know whether or not you want a second chance at life."_

_X_

Whoa. Did I get hit by a train? I look down at myself—_my _personal self as if I never died—to find my lanky legs in faded blue jeans and black Converses. When the hell did I get these? When the hell did I come back in the first place? I died. At least I think I died. I have the strangest feeling I died at some point. That might be why this is so awkward. I feel rejuvenated. That must have been some sleep I got. Where am I, anyway?

This room looks really familiar. This is my flat, isn't it? Yeah. I think it is. Everything looks the same as I left it when I left for New Jersey. That's weird. I'm having a hard time remembering everything clearly. It's like I can see the painting, just not the intricate details. I do know where I am though. This room has to be mine—who else would have pages upon pages of crumpled paper scattered around the floor in failed attempts to write. What was I trying to write? I wonder.

I sit up and lean down over the edge of the bed, far too lazy to even consider getting up. I untangle the two clumped sheets of paper and glance of them. One of them is just a blank sheet and the other is a drawing two men. One has fire red hair and bright jade eyes that smile by themselves. The other man has aquamarine locks and golden eyes with kind of pointy ears. They look familiar. Why? I feel like I know both of them.

Then I notice there is a mirror on the wall opposite the bed. I squint and stare into it.

Shit! No wonder the redhead looks familiar! He looks just like me!

That _is_ me!

Damn I look good!

So I know what I look like, with my straight nose and devious eyes, but who _am_ I? What's my name? What am I doing here? I honestly could have sworn I was dead. I mean, it just feels right to say that I was dead. Obviously I'm not sure whether I was or wasn't. I'm here now, aren't I? This is so weird and so… so _wrong_. But at the same time I feel like I'm supposed to be here. There's something I'm supposed to do, isn't there?

I stare back down at the sheets of paper in my hand. The formerly blank one now has writing all over it. The handwriting is miniscule and sharp. Every letter _i i_s dotted with a daisy. Can you say _weird_? What the hell?

_This might not seem like a lot, but it's all you need to refresh your memory._

_Good luck, Axel._

Following girly handwriting is a paragraph of ones and zeros. In an instant, a flash of white light knocks me over and shoves me back down onto my bed. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Images crashing into the dams of my mind, agitated and ambiguous; they smother me. They steal my breath. The back of my skull pounds in pain. My eyes burn as they try to shut out the fluorescence of this white world of recollections. All these memories… are they mine? They flow through my bloodstream.

They seep into the crevices of my brain.

They all become a part of me.

They meld into my body.

X

My eyes open. I am staring at my bedroom ceiling. It's just as dull and gray and shitty as before I died. Wait. I did die, didn't I? Or was that just a dream? No. I'm pretty sure I asked Cloud to light me on fire. Why the hell did I do that? I never did anything to him. What kind of dumbass was I to ask him to blow me up? Shit, man. I should call him and tell him he's an ass for listening to me. But if I died, how am I back in the waking right now?

Huh. Maybe I didn't die?

I turn toward the nightstand when I hear a vibration coming off of the mahogany table. I lean over to look at the screen. _Call From Isa, _it reads. I grin.

Damn. It feels like I haven't talked to him in forever! I reach over and answer. "Hey man," I greet, smile gracing my face.

He gasps subtly. I decide not to point it out. He says, "I didn't think it was possible, but you're back!" He laughs. "You've been gone for like, six months, man! It's great to hear from you," he says, relief dripping off his voice.

I raise an eyebrow. _Six months? How was I gone for six months?_ Then I remember that I had left to stay with my uncle Xigbar in New Jersey. Maybe I never left. If so, then I have a lot of pseudo-memories. But it doesn't feel right to assume that those are the six months Isa is talking about.

"Where have I been for six months?" I ask him vaguely, trying to sound confused but joking at the same time. If he is about to tell me some bullshit thing I want to be able to play along so I don't seem like an idiot.

"You ask me as if you didn't die dude. You were dead. I was sure of it. But I guess you just dropped off the face of the earth for a while so you could sort things out with yourself," he says. I hear a popping noise. He is probably chewing gum. I know he likes Watermelon Twist Trident better than any other flavor so that must be his chew.

I chuckle awkwardly. This talk of me dying is freaky. "Yep… Guess I did fade away for a little bit. Sorry about that."

"No problem! Oh. And we have our support group today. Are you coming?"

Support group? I do not think I went to one of those since… since… I cannot even remember. There is something important about it, though. There has to be some significance to it. There is someone there, perhaps someone that means something to me? Or was it something that is supposed to happen there? I do not remember. I do not remember at all.

But there has to be something about it. "Sure, why not. Can you give me a ride?" I ask him, pushing myself into a relaxed position sitting up so I no longer feel like a lazy ass for waking up at noon on a… the day is Thursday, according to my bedside alarm clock.

"Of course I can. I don't see why not. I'll be there in an hour. So make sure your lazy ass is out of bed and dressed and all that fun stuff," he warns playfully. I picture his amber eyes gleaming childishly.

"Yeah, Isa, whatever you say," I snort, flipping my shit phone shut.

Déjà vu strikes me. Something about this feels disturbingly familiar, but I elect to push that thought away. Right now I just want to know why I feel so weird. I feel gross. I feel like there is something that I am missing. Frankly, I feel like I am missing a lot of things. Why do I feel this empty? I am not supposed to be like this. I think I remember having more emotion before I sort-of kind-of died. Seriously, what is up with this whole 'I died' thing, anyway? I don't remember dying. Did it happen and I just forgot it? No. There cannot be any such thing as coming back to life. Those are the things left for fairytales and bedtime stories. It is like so much is being expected of me in figuring this entire thing out. I don't want to be the only one to work on the thousand-piece puzzle.

What do they want with me?

_I want nothing from you; just to know whether or not you want a second chance at life._

The words echo through my body, gently massaging the knots and tension that have built up within me. For some reason I find comfort in those words. But I also find myself fearing them and holding hatred toward he- or she –who spoke them.

Whose right was it to send me back to this life if I did, in fact, die?

This is an opportunity I doubt I wanted.

* * *

There was supposed to be an actual paragraph full of binary code after the anonymous note, but ffn doesn't seem to want to let me use all those ones and zeros. That makes me pretty sad, too, because it was going to add to the effect of the pitifully short first chapter and I was going to tie it into a surprise. That ruined part of it. So I'm not particularly pleased with how it starts, but here it is! I'm just glad I started it at all. This chapter, like the first of Matchstick Houses, sorta sucks and is rather short but the ones to come are to be noticably longer. I'm sorry for what I may or may not do to you guys through the course of this story because it might drive you crazy. Might not, but whatever.

Thank you so much for all your kind words for **MH** because this never would've been started without you. :3

Scotty.

Oh, and I figure that I should start having a disclaimer so I don't get in trouble.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Hearts, but I so own this interpretation of Axel and Roxas.


	2. Off Balance

**Off Balance**

This whole concept of 'supportive grouping' freaks me out. I never had enough problems to even _consider_ asking someone else for help. I mean, my dad was a criminal and my mom was admittedly a bit of a whore but it wasn't exactly enough to bring me down. Also, I never really got along with a lot of people which is why I only have one really close friend.

That really close friend being Isa.

Isa: my main man.

Isa: my partner in crime.

Isa: my personal ass face that wants me to go to some gay-ass support group and get help for problems I don't even have. Story of my life, right? No, really, is it the story of my life? I don't remember much right now. Tomorrow will most likely be better. This is all like a massive hangover. Yeah. That's what it is—a ginormous hangover. Ain't that fan-fucking-tastic?

So Isa picks me up and drives me to this three-story building that doesn't have an elevator. It's all stairs. We had to climb up to the second floor and I'm really not feeling it right now. I mean I am _really _not in the mood for all that physical activity. Sure it's all of _nothing_ in the scheme of things, but it still annoys me.

x

In this room there are window walls. Outside it's snowing. It's only October 15th (as my amazing alarm clock told me) and it is snowing. The upside is that I love snow and think it is absolutely beautiful. I think I want to melt it though. Honestly, I could use a lighter right now. I think I would do some insane things with it. I envision roaring fires engulfing this building, turning it to ashes, whipping winter winds walloping those ashes into the ground.

I'm apparently suddenly a pyromaniac. How's that for f—ed?

I feel like I have been here in this group before, strangely enough. I take note of everyone around me- an antsy blonde with a mullet-Mohawk fidgeting with the hem of his bright blue V-neck, a small black-haired girl tapping her feet anxiously, a pink-haired guy (girl?) that I distinctly recall being a brunette, and a blonde with spikey hair and empty eyes that I recognize from the news a few years back. I think his name was Cloud Strife. My aunt was heartbroken when she saw that on the news. We lived in the same general vicinity as the Strife family and someone had burned their house down. It was devastating. I always thought all three of them died—Aerith, Sephiroth, and Cloud—but it looks like Cloud is still alive. That's nice. Good for him.

There is an empty chair next to Cloud Strife. I can read the disappointment on his face. I feel a twinge of sadness in my heart. Or is that longing? What is this feeling? I feel… lost… It's almost like something is supposed to be here but it isn't here. Something is missing. Something feels wrong. Someone is supposed to be in that chair.

Someone that is not in that chair is supposed to be in that chair.

God damn it.

X

After an hour of blankly (but very angrily) staring at the empty seat next to Cloud Strife, the support meeting lets out. I learned less in that hour than I did in my freshman year of high school and I didn't learn _jack shit_ that year. Isa and I are coolly walking down a dusty sidewalk in the direction of the parking lot that goes to this building. Isa's hands are shoved in his pockets. I notice, when the breeze brushes his sapphire locks from his pale face that his eyes are watery, but a tiny smile of happiness is twitching on his face. I watch curiously as a single tear leaves the duct of his left eye.

"Isa," I call out softly, gripping his shoulder that is closest to me, stopping in my tracks. He stops as well. "Is something wrong?" I ask him.

He sharply turns his head away and purposefully covers his eyes with his hair after rubbing streams of tears away furiously. "Nothing's _wrong_. I'm just…" He sniffles. I smile softly at the youth I find in him simply by seeing this lost vulnerability. I can't remember the last time I saw him like this.

Then again there are a lot of things I can't remember but that's beside the point.

Isa tells me, "That was the second fucking time you ditched me for half a fucking year. You were dead. I mean you were honestly dead to me. You were dead to everyone. So much has changed. Your uncle's got himself a girl now and I got… well I got nothing at the moment. You're my best friend, Axe. I hate when you randomly leave me like that." He turns around and sucker-punches me in the gut. I wheeze. I think my stomach broke. "You're not doing it again because if you do I'll kill you."

I smirk between struggles to get my breath back. _Just like old times_.

I shove his arm, pushing him into a brick wall powerfully. He hits his head and his arm gets all cut up from glass shards sticking out of crannies. We push each other back and forth for a while, laughing, getting beaten up by the other. I enjoy it. This is what my friendship with Isa has been like since the beginning.

I hear clomping footsteps coming up from behind us. They are fast, chasing us. Then I hear, "Isa, hold up!" I stand up straight and tap Isa's shoulder, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb. I tilt my head in question.

Isa turns around. His face illuminates when he sees whoever is behind us. I turn as well, nearly colliding with a pale face topped with light blonde hair. Dark blue eyes shine through wispy bangs. "Hey, Cloud. What's up?"

And as quickly as my mood had been lifted, it gets shot down by the quality of the engrossing conversation between those two. It sickens me. I groan and mutter something about catching up with him as I continue off in the general direction in which we were just headed—not that it matters anyway. Isa doesn't really seem to care. He's too busy making google-eyes at Cloud. How nasty is that? I tilt my head back and force my hands into my back pockets. Damn things are too small. I should get more pants- preferably ones with large pockets that I can keep shit in.

I sigh and flip my head forward, not caring how windblown my hair is, not caring how feminine it looks frazzled by humidity, not worrying about my appearance at all whatsoever. I have no reason to care how I look. I just 'came back to life'. I want to live the way I choose for fuck's sake.

On a bench about fifty feet away, there is a blonde mop. It's a floppy mop on top of a thin pole. What's a mop doing outside? Oh wait, it's just a boy. But I could have sworn he was a mop. I mentally bitch-slap myself for being an idiot. Then I notice, as I get closer, that it isn't _just_ a boy.

My mind shrieks, _Roxas!_

Who the hell is Roxas? I've never met anyone by that name, have I? I have to admit he looks awkwardly familiar. Admittedly, I sort-of want to fuck him on the spot, too, but that would be a horrible idea. My heart is crushing itself against my ribcage every single time it pounds, trying to bust out of my chest. Shit. Ouch. It hurts. My chest really hurts. I think I should bash my head into a wall to ease it or something. Roxas. Whoever he is, he's kryptonite.

I stalk over to him.

_Pound._

Closer.

_Pound._

Just a few more steps.

_Pound._

My heart beats faster with each step I draw closer.

Roxas snaps out of his little world as I sit down on the bench beside him, slipping a little on the mist-covered seat. He gives me a peculiar look of confusion. "Can I help you?" he asks in possibly the sexiest raspy voice I've ever heard. He clears his throat. He has dirty blonde hair, gelled in spikes that are wilder than mine; it's not an easy feat to accomplish, either. His bubbly blue eyes with outspoken bags under them are lost in whatever world across the street is so fascinating that he must stare at it dreamily. His face is pale, washed out by the white short-sleeve jacket on his torso. He wears a checkerboard wristband on his left wrist. He's wearing baggy jeans and a pair of DCs that only partially match. This familiar beauty that radiates from his body is like sunlight. Though he has tiny scars adorning his face that _aren't_ so familiar, they fail all attempts at ruining this perfection.

I can picture his lips on mine, locked in passion.

I can feel myself inside his hot, tight pleasure.

I can feel his hands gripping my waistband and his head on my chest.

But I've never met him before in my life.

So I ignore his sardonic _can I help you_. There is something I just have to do. I roughly grab both sides of his face and stare deep into his startled his eyes.

"What the hell are you doi-!"

I interrupt him by forcing my mouth upon his. I was right. This _is_ right. This is so grotesquely similar to a memory I think I have. His lips taste like a warm chocolate chip cookie. His cheeks are freezing beneath my hands, but are quickly heating up ferociously. I smile into the kiss unintentionally and he squeaks, heaving me off of him far too soon. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wristband.

His scowl is deep. I am actually rather wounded by it and immediately frown in response, my eyes growing after failing to stay intense. "I don't care what fucking day of the week you are. Today's my day off. Get the picture?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure I'm not a day of the week…" I assure him in a voice that makes it more like a question than an assurance.

His glare gets even deeper somehow, boring holes through my skull like a drill bit. "So _you're_ Saturday!" he yells at me, slapping me hard across the face. It stings. I think he left a mark.

My jaw drops. "What are you talking about? I already told you I'm not a fucking day of the week! I'm a person!"

His eyes go wide then shrink back down as if the thought of me being a human as opposed to a weekday comforts him. He chuckles nervously and scratches his head. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else for a minute." His face twists back into a glare. Can you say bipolar? "But seriously, kissing people you don't know isn't cool. It makes you look like a pedophile."

The corner of my lip pulls into a lopsided smile. Something tells me he is all bark, no bite. "Maybe I _am_ a pedophile, here to take you to my house and rape you," I say, trying to lay on the _just joking_ tone as thickly as possible so he doesn't turn around and punch me like Isa did.

My stomach still hurts, by the way.

Roxas winks boyishly and laughs. "Who said it'd be rape, you creepy faggot? You seem fine to me."

I stick my tongue out. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"

After ten minutes of throwing banter back and forth competitively, Roxas stops. He tilts his head. His hair flops to one side. His smile is gorgeous. His boyfriend is a lucky bastard. "You're a weird guy. I wish you could be Thursday," he says with dreamy eyes.

My brow peaks. "I'm not a day of the week, you know. I happen to be a human being with thoughts and feelings," I tell him mindlessly.

His eyes pop open when I finish saying that. His eyes droop. He suddenly looks sad, averts his eyes. "I guess you're right. I wouldn't want you to be a day of the week either. You're too cool for that," he tells me, chuckling. He rises to his feet and puts a smile back on his adorable face. "What's your name, anyway?"

I try to force a smile back, knowing that something in the mood has changed. That's why he's about to go, isn't it. "Axel. Got it memorized?"

Roxas laughs. "Yeah, I'll commit it to memory." He turns his back to me and walks away. After three steps or so, he stops. "I'll see you around." He pauses. "Axel."

_Pound._

Will you just shut up?

…_Pound._

Yeah, heart; I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, too. Or at least I hope so because that kid is fucking hot and even if I can't become friends with him I could try for a good fuck.

What the hell am I saying? I don't want that.

Who am I kidding? Hell yeah, I do!

* * *

Wow. So I only have the first chapter up and there's 6 faves and 11 alerts. Transferring from Matchstick Houses, I see. :P I mean _wow_. Thank you so much. I'm sorry for the long wait on this chapter. The end fought with me tooth and nail, the son-of-a-bitch. On the upside, the next chapter will be up within the next few days _for sure_ because I have to go to work with my mom tomorrow. 8 hours in front of my laptop with no internet access means WRITING! WOOHOO! And if you wanna do fan-art for this story our are even considering it, you should. You just should. And I'm not trying to be greedy or selfish or anything, but things like your reviews and compliments and messages just make all this stuff I've been dealing with feel worthwhile. As long as I can get up and know someone's reading this shit it feels just fine to me. So thanks so much for being here.

Love Scotty.


	3. Two Bitches, a Cat, and a Whatif

**Two Bitches, a Cat, and a What-if**

The fast food joint is barren, save a geeky teenage boy working at the counter and a woman on a mission. The skinny woman slinks over to the counter, her long legs striding one in front of the other as she steps. Her yellow-blonde hair is slicked back, snug against her skull and slender neck. Two long, stray strands stick up and fold back like backwards dog-ears. Her Clearwater-blue eyes are narrowed into slits. The sneer on the edge of her lip is fetching. She digs one hand into her small purse and points her leer at the man behind the counter.

"Hey there sweetheart," she says in a southern accent with a dark smirk. The freckle-faced Ginger of a teenager's eyes widen. Sweat beads on the hairline along his pimply forehead. His barf-green eyes are swirling. The girl whose face is wiped with evil morphs her expression into one of innocence. "Hows about you give me all the money in that there register before I whip out my baby and blow your brains out?"

"What?" botch-face boy stumbles, taken aback.

The girl's hand grips the handle of the gun in her purse. She pulls it out elegantly and with an almost _sensual_ movement aims it directly at his face. A maliciously seductive grin shows on her thin lips. She sets her handbag on the counter. She uses her normal voice—a feminine but powerful roar. "Bitch please. Don't make me shoot you. Here's the bag. Put the money in it or these bullets have a date with your head."

The boy frantically spasms as he attempts to open the cash register. He yanks out stacks of twenties, tens, and fives and shoves them in the girl's purse. She notices a monitor with four points of views being displayed. She sneers and turns her head, looking for the camera. She aims then fires at the ceiling camera in the corner of the restaurant. The video recorder explodes, sparks flying, pieces cracking off to crash to the floor with a _clank_.

_Tsk,_ the girl sneers inwardly, _interfering bastards_. She turns back to the kid at the cashier station. "You done yet, kid?" She doesn't wait for his response. "Whatever. I say you are." She snatches her purse off the counter and closes it, throws the strap over her shoulder. She points the gun at the boy's forehead. "Now you're going to go back to security and delete the footage. Got it?"

"Y-yes, miss," he stutters, heading toward the back of the store. The girl doesn't trust him one bit. She climbs over the counter skillfully and follows him, keeping her gun pointed at the back of his scalp. The boy, whose shirt back reads RED, fumbles with keys in his pocket and unlocks a metal door.

"Hey Red," the girl says, catching his attention. She knows by the way his back goes rigid and his posture straightens significantly. "If anyone finds out about this, remember that I know where you work," she reminds him snidely.

"…Right…" he mutters, pushing open the door to a dark room whose wall is lined with monitors. There is a rolling chair in front of the wall of screens. Red sits in front of it. He types away on the keyboard hooked up to the main screen the one that operates within the shop, and erases the information for the whole day. "Okay, it's gone."

The woman smiles falsely. "You're a good kid, Red," she tells him, ruffling his hair hanging over the sides of his uniform's visor. He smacks her hand away angrily. She frowns. "Well if that's the way you wanna be… Just remember I've got your number, kiddo."

X

A dishwater blonde boy with eyes deeper blue than the sea clicks his apartment key into the front door lock. He rattles the rusty knob. He kicks the base of the door with his left foot. The dented wooden door swings open, crashing against the wall behind it. A dog barks. A cat screeches. The boy grumbles to himself. This is the story of his life: wake up, go somewhere, do something, do some_one_, come home, clean off, and fuck off until tomorrow where he does it all over again. His name is Roxas.

_One of these days_, he seethes when he realizes his cousin, Cloud Strife, is not home. _I swear I'm going to shove my foot so far up his ass he'll smell it._

He peels off his sweatshirt. It still smells clean for a change; today was his day off and he had made as much of it as humanly possible enjoyable. He rarely gets a day off. Someone always wants something of him and he is obligated to oblige.

Roxas kicks off his shoes in the general direction of the pleather couch, kicking the door shut after. He rubs his eyes tiredly and shuffles over to the bar-ledge. He looks down at his home phone and answering machine. He pushes a large PLAY button. The machine recites, "_You have three new messages._"

The boy groans and turns up the volume as he struggles to put one foot in front of the other to get to his bedroom. "Ah fuck it all," he spits, disgusted with both his own self and whoever the hell dared to leave him a message.

"Hey Roxy, it's…" There is the sound of crinkling paper. The raspy voice continues by saying, "It's Wednesday. I was wondering if we can reschedule for tomorrow. I have this business trip from tomorrow to Thursday and I don't want to feel bad for depriving you. Call me back if you get a chance, babe. See ya."

Roxas tears off his shirt and pants, staying only in his black boxers. His hair has been ruffled; looks like a pig sty. Anger wells up in him—he hates Wednesday. Wednesday is the biggest fucking asshole ever, literally _and_ figuratively.

"Rox, it's me, Riku. I need to talk to you, man," a deep voice says quietly, stricken with sadness. "I don't… I… Just call me. Bye."

_Riku… What's wrong this time?_

Riku admittedly has a ton of problems. When Roxas was younger he had a little brother named Sora who was Riku's best friend. When Sora died in the accidental fire, Riku was heartbroken. He was never the same again. He became closed-off. He shut himself down. And Roxas was the only person, aside from long-time friend Kairi, he ever talked to anymore. With the way his heart shattered when he lost his best friend, Riku decided that never again would he lose anyone that close to him. Roxas was the closest thing he could have to Sora now. Roxas was the one person he swore to always protect with his life and soul. It didn't matter if he died; as long as a piece of Sora was still alive—as long as that little ball of blue-eyed sunshine lived on with that quirky smile and silly attitude—then nothing else mattered. So what could be said about Riku's feelings toward Roxas?

Riku loves Roxas.

Riku lovesRoxas with all his heart.

Roxas doesn't love Riku back in the same way.

But Riku doesn't know that.

A boy can dream, right?

Roxas recalls a boyfriend he used to have (what was his name again?) that never got to meet Riku, or any of his closest people for that matter other than Cloud. It feels like an eternity since that relationship for Roxas. He can hardly remember anything. The only thing he knows that his last relationship (that _wasn't_ this freaky one-sided thing with Riku) was the only time he had ever fallen in love. He had been so deeply in love with his last boyfriend and sobbed himself half to death after he left. Roxas doesn't know what happened. He thought everything had been perfect—which it was—but apparently perfection wasn't good enough. What was that asshole's name?

_Pang!_

A metaphorical knife stabs him in the side of the head.

"Fuck!" he screams, grasping his forehead. "Ah…" he hisses between gritted teeth. _Why now? Every fucking time I try to remember my ex this happens!_

_Maybe it _is_ better I've forgotten everything about him._

Roxas has no idea that it _isn't_ better. Now he keeps horrible company. He has no self-preservation. He does not care about his body or what happens to it. He just wants the world to stop and leave him alone forever. He wants to kill someone. He wants to kill someone in the most painful way he can imagine.

Cut out their organs while watching public access television.

_No… If the world stopped I wouldn't get to talk to that Axel guy again_, Roxas realizes. The pain in his head slowly begins to soothe itself. _I wish I could be friends with him. But who would want to be friends with a whore like me?_

The voice of his cousin in his head tells him, "Don't think like that Roxas. You're not a bad person."

And Roxas would tell him, "Screw off, Cloud. What do you know? You're happily engaged to Tifa. You have a system of friends behind you that would kill anyone who messed with you. I don't have that."

Cloud would frown and cross his arms over his chest stubbornly. "You do have that. You have me. You have Riku. You have that Isa guy from support group, too, believe it or not." He would smirk. "I'd keep going, but I don't want to feed your _giant_ ego."

Roxas would stick his tongue out. "What _ego_? I have less self-esteem than Gilbert Grape."

Cloud's eye would twitch. He would hold up a finger as if to ask for a second to process that information. Gilbert Grape had it bad. "You don't have it that bad. You don't have a fat mom that dies of a heart attack after climbing the stairs. You don't have a retarded younger brother played by Leonardo DiCaprio. And you most certainly didn't light your house on fire. You've never had your house light on fire."

He would tense up at the thought of houses lighting on fire. The memories of his family's death still terrorize him to this day.

Roxas would fume. His face would flush and he would get furious. "Why do you always bring that up? Do you want my pity or something? They were my family too, Cloud. So stop bitching and get on with life!"

Cloud's orbs would swell with shameful tears. He would turn his back, return to stoicism, and walk away from Roxas, leaving him to wallow in the shadow of his own self-loathing. Roxas, as far as Roxas was concerned, was a dirty, worthless whore with no reason to live other than to fuck for money. He used to be different. He knows he did. Something restrains him from remembering those days, though. Those were the days when he was still with his ex. But that was a very, very long time ago.

Roxas, in the present world, not hypothetical, begins to cry. He clutches his pillow, suffocates himself with it. He screams at the top of his lungs.

A dog barks.

A cat screeches.

X

I rub my tired eyes. I roll them in the direction of Isa, who's driving his _adorable_ baby-blue Mustang. It doesn't even qualify as driving. We're stuck in a traffic jam. For fuck's sake, I just want to go home and sleep. I'm sure I should still be worrying about other things, but this is more important at the moment. I rub my temples agitatedly. "Remind me again why we're driving in shitty traffic to the other fucking side of town," I demand of my friend.

"We have to visit Arlene," he responds blandly with a devilish grin.

I raise an eyebrow. "Who the hell is Arlene?"

He snaps his fingers before slamming on the gas to speed past the yellow light turning red. He smacks the horn forcefully. It honks. A bunch of other people honk too and scream profanities out their window. He tells me, "You know her as Relane, but that's just an alias she goes by because she doesn't want to get stalked."

"So, what, she thinks I'd stalk her?" I ask with a scowl. I'm not that creepy… am I?

Isa flips his hand like _pshaw_. "Naw, she's just a paranoid bitch. Don't give it a second thought. We just have to drop something off at her and Marly's place."

Oh yeah, I remember. She's with that Marluxia guy from that one party I went to. I think I remember something else important from that party. I remember getting laid… I remember seeing my then-significant other with someone else.

Who was my significant other, anyway?

Must've been pretty special at the time; I don't usually get that worked up over people.

"When do you think we'll get there?" I ask Isa, reclining the passenger seat so I can chill.

"About an hour, give or take for this fucking traffic jam!" he yells out the window, shoving his middle finger in the air. "Will you fucking move already?"

* * *

CLIFF-HANGER! Not really. Just Isa's roadrage. I swear when I start driving it's going to be ten times worse than this. Hopefully you noticed this chapter followed the main character- Axel -along with two others. One was Roxas and one was... Relane/Arlene! DUN. DUN. **DUN.** This is going to get effing crazy, man! The love story isn't really prominent here, but it's coming. Oh. It's coming. It's coming like Axel in Roxas the last time they had sex. Which I referenced! Woot for Matchstick Houses references! Next chapter coming soon, kids! THanks for your _amazing_ reviews. You make my day. You make my life. &Heart!

So am I the only one here who has seen What's Eating Gilbert Grape? Seriously, I will be so disappointed if I am. GO WATCH IT. If you do, I'll love you even more.

Also, I decided the theme song for this story. It's _The Winner Takes It All _by ABBA. And the song that inspired this story is _Forever or Never_ by Cinema Bizarre. Put 'em both on your playlist, kids! Also, there is, in fact, a song that inspired the title for Matchstick Houses-_Running From Lions_ by All Time Low. Go listen to that, too. xD

Love, Scotty.


	4. The IFA Wants You Back

******That Was the International Fag Association. They Want Their President Back.**

"Are we _there_ yet?" I groan irritably. I swear I've been in this ass-scented car with Isa for over an hour now. That traffic jam really took a toll on our travelling time. It added at least half an hour to our trip, probably more. It would explain why I want to rip Isa's face off. I'm just mad. Think about it. He lets this fart rip that smells like rotten eggs and moldy bread with parmesan cheese melted on it. It makes me want to throw up. So I roll down the window and hurl all over the side of his car. I don't get any on the inside, though. Then he yells and swears at me so we make a pit stop somewhere he can was his door off because it's covered in my barf.

"No, _Axel_, we're not fucking there! If you ask me one more time I'm going to kick your ass out of this car and you can walk home," he threatens, faint x-shaped scar that rarely shows flaunting itself. If you really look at it, it crosses his face completely. I used to call him x-face, but that started to piss him off and he would threaten me like he is now. I don't particularly _like_ the idea of getting the shit beat out of me (because I know he actually would) but it's hard to take him seriously when he always does it, y'know?

I snort and pull my hood over my eyes, trying to hide them from the light reflecting off of little chunks of hail. Yay for mid-October precipitation; I enjoy it _so _much. "Don't flip a shit on me or anything," I say sarcastically, folding my arms coolly behind my head.

He makes a _tsk_ sound at me. "Be happy I'm not beating you right now. You deserve it for puking on my baby."

I whine, "Dude, I already apologized! What more do you want from me?"

He curls his lip up with the slightest hints of a smile. "I want awesome sex, three kids, and a beach-side condo in Florida," he demands.

I stick my tongue out. "Yeah, fucking right—you can have that shit when I've got a steady job, a pet fish, and enough money to pay my rent for once in my life."

"You could always move in with me, you know," he says, suddenly serious.

Toto, we ain't in Kansas anymore. Isa's eyes have glazed over as he stares out at the road before us, unfazed as it flies by. His gaze is filled with longing and pain. I can see his face twist with sorrow. I can only imagine what is going through his head.

Isa has a lot on his plate that he doesn't like to talk about. His mom is dying of cancer. She's living in the hospice. His half-sister is a crazy, 'paranoid bitch'. He himself is doing everything he can to not lose his job at Kinko's in his random fits of rage because he has serious anger management problems. The smallest things infuriate him and he cannot even control the anger that blazes through him. And don't get me fucking started on the moon. It makes him think of his dad so every time he sees it he wants to kill something. He hates his dad. A lot.

"Isa…" I whisper, trying to keep him calm in case his thoughts have already differed to his father.

"I'm not gonna lie and tell you I don't really want you to move in with me, Axel," he tells me coolly, keeping his eyes set on the road as traffic clears up. He picks up the speed a little. "You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without you. And I know we joke about it a lot, but believe me when I say… I love you."

My mind fails to process that information. My mouth is hanging open under my hood. I look awestruck right now, for sure. If I looked happy I would be pissed. I just want to look freaked out because I fucking am!

Isa suddenly starts talking again after about six minutes. "Given, I hate you sometimes too. Just the good times weigh out the bad in the scheme of things. So next time you go off bitching about how bad you have it and how you don't have a boyfriend or a girlfriend or some shit like that, remember this."

X

"R-Riku, stop that! It fucking—ah!—hurts," Roxas whines. The barely five-foot-seven blonde hisses through his teeth; he is trying to toss his silver-headed friend off of him. He can't remove the teeth from the junction between his shoulder and neck. They dig deeper into his skin. Roxas is pressed against the wall of his own apartment, Riku latched onto him. Roxas moans unintentionally. Riku places cold, heartless kisses at different spots on the boy's neck.

He isn't enjoying it at all. He hates when this happens. He hates it so much. The possessiveness that Riku shows toward him is haunting. He tried to control the blonde. It was all because he couldn't have Sora and couldn't fucking accept it. At least that is what Roxas thought about it. He has his hands pressed against Riku's shoulders, doing everything in his power to force him off.

"P-please get off, Riku; you're hur—_shit_—ting me!" Roxas yells.

Riku crushes his mouth against Roxas', shoves his tongue in the smaller male's mouth almost immediately. Roxas tries to force him out. He tries to get rid of him. There's only one thing Roxas thinks to do. He bites down on Riku's tongue like he would bite into a huge piece of steak.

And Riku fucking _screams_; he stumbles backwards, covering his mouth and screaming. His eyes are dark, filled with unsettling lust for the one who rejected him.

Roxas pants. "I'm not… Sora…" he whispers, eyes watering. He shakes his head. "I'm just… not."

Riku's eyes go wide. Then they narrow in fury. He doesn't open his mouth to speak again. Instead, he just grabs Roxas by the bicep and glares into his eyes. He throws Roxas- who yelps –to the floor angrily. He pins him down by the wrists, stretching the arms above the mess of mustard-colored hair. He holds the wrists together with one hand then uses the free hand to undo the jeans on the boy. Riku is straddling his waist and considers himself in the perfect position to do this.

"You…disappoint me, Sora," he whispers, alcohol-laced breath hot on Roxas' face.

"I already told you, I'm not my fucking brother, Riku!" Roxas screams in his face, trying to wriggle free. It fails. "Sora is _dead_, Riku! How many times have I told you?"

Riku's left eye twitches.

Of course this is Sora. Sora was always like this. He was always so scared and timid when it came to do anything. He was scared to scale the building the first time they did it. He would never disobey his parents. But Riku thought so differently of Sora than Sora ever thought of him.

Sora had Kairi.

…Fucking Kairi stole the love of Riku's life. Then Sora fucking died.

No. Sora didn't die. He's right underneath the agitated man, squirming, trying to get free just like when they wrestled as children.

"Sora…" he whispers, clamping his eyes shut. This is Sora. This is the Sora that he always wanted to be around. This is the Sora he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with, even from childhood when he had no idea what something that serious meant. "You're always so coy…" he says sensually, leaning down and licking the large laceration on "Sora's" shoulder.

"I'm not coy, Riku! You're drunk off your ass!" Roxas shouts, throwing his head back. He doesn't mean to, but the stinging sensation on his neck… the pain… it feels so good. It feels _so_ dirty.

But _so_ good.

Riku smirks against the soft skin, running his hand up the long, lean sides. Then he trails it back down and returns to getting Sora out of his pants.

"Sora…" Riku whispers against the shivering body. It shudders. His body is clammy. Riku tingles with excitement. He can't wait to finally give Sora what he needs. He can't wait to _punish_ him for all the times he shied away; all the times he refused to comply with his master's wishes. Oh. Sora deserved _everything_ he was about to get. "Why do you reject me?"

"Because I _don't want you_, Riku," Roxas reiterates.

But what if he did? He shakes the thought out of his head ferociously, thrashing about, kicking one of his legs up and inadvertently hitting Riku in the ass, which seemed to only make him hornier. Said rapist hikes himself up on _his Sora's_ body and kisses him lightly on the side of the face.

"You don't mean that, Sora," he whispers, trailing to the boy's mouth and placing a fierce kiss there.

_Sora_ screams again.

Riku takes it as a scream of pleasure and decides that play time is over. He yanks off Sora's pants and discards them. They land on top of the television. The next to go is the tease's jacket. Riku literally _rips_ it off of him, letting the two pieces fall to the floor under his lover's back. All he wants is to take the boy and never set him free. If he had it his way, he would never dare get rid of Sora.

_Sora…_

The memories flicker through his mind. He shudders.

_Riku, this is wrong_, the sound of Sora's voice- the real Sora –speaks to him.

_Sora…_

_Don't do this, Riku. You're better than this, _he says, disappointment not just hinted, but given away like the answer to a Trivial Pursuit question.

_I'm not. I need you,_ Riku tells him, staring down at the face of the boy below him, eyes grazing his body.

_Riku… the person you're about to touch the way you want to touch me… he isn't me,_ Sora finally says. The real Sora—the Sora that Riku longs to hear—sets his hand upon the boy's cheek. As, that really is what Riku is. He is no more than a boy lost in his lust and loneliness. His heart has been broken.

_Sora... _Riku closes his eyes, trying to shove out the pain in his core. _Even as a kid I knew I wanted you._ Tears escape the damns and barely squeeze out, dripping onto a small patch of midriff revealed from Roxas' shirt getting ruffled. _I only wanted to stay with you._

He can feel Sora's hand resting on his shoulder comfortingly. His eyes shoot open. He turns his head this way and that. He knows that Sora is here. Somewhere, whether he can be seen or not, he is here. The image of that bright, friendly smile flashes through Riku's mind.

_This isn't what I would want, Riku,_ he whispers, his voice being carried away.

Riku's body goes shaky. He hardly manages to release Roxas' wrists, but does somehow. He tilts his head back, eyes wide and open to the gray ceiling; that ceiling which is as empty and dead as the one looking at it. Roxas notices the sudden change and assists Riku in getting off. Riku sits on his knees blankly for a couple seconds then collapses, head striking the wall as he does. And even though Roxas hates him right now for coming closer to raping him than he ever has before, Roxas' jaw drops. Like the worried friend he is, he calls Riku's name, begging him to wake up.

Tears drip from his eyes. He pleads one more time.

With no response, he dials 911.

_This isn't what I would want, Riku…_

_This… is never what I wanted. Not like this…_

X

I feel like I'm turning my head like a fucking owl as I observe Relane/Arlene and Marluxia's house. For one thing, it looks a lot better than I remember it before them dating. They've been together almost a year, I think. If I was really _dead_ for six months then yeah, it's about a year. The house looks better. Both of them look like they're in better shape physically and emotionally; I don't think I remember the last time I saw Marluxia sober. They're good for each other, I'll admit.

"Man, if I had a dime for every party I came to here," I say with an impressed whistle. Isa laughs, carrying a large box of books in his arms ranging from All Quiet on the Western Front (aka the most annoying fucking book ever written) to Twilight to fucking Odd Thomas.

Whatever the hell _he _of all people is doing with this mass of books, I don't want to know.

Oh, and don't think I forgot how he confessed he loves me. That was a huge curveball for me. I'm trying not to think about it and we're both trying to ignore it. The sad thing is, if I don't fall in love with my best friend, I don't think I'll ever fall in love. I honestly don't think I'm worth even that much. I _couldn't_ love that much.

Not like I loved _him_ anyway.

Who is _him_?

_He_ is someone I saw in my dream when I fell asleep in the car. _He _is someone who racks my brain and makes me wonder _why_, when I first met him, I already knew everything about him simply by seeing him. I know he prefers sex hard to fast. I know he hates losing people.

I also know he lost me. I don't know when, but he lost me.

The only thing I have to do is help him realize that I've been found.

_I've been found, Roxas…_

_Please… remember…__

* * *

  
_Hi there! Fourth installment is here! Not what you expected, huh? Yeah, I intend on having plenty of surprises in here. A lot of them are already written. Excited? Let me get a WOOP WOOP if you are! ...Just kidding. Don't glare at me like I'm an idiot. I'm just hyper and excited to post. I love updating this story. I really do. It's one of my favorites to write. I can go a day and only write a paragraph or so, then the next day I'm typing up two or three complete chapters! (Today it was the first chap of my new project, Fad, and another chapter of this. Impressive, right? I'm so proud.) I only have to haul ass for hours at a time to do these then pray that people review nicely and are still enjoying it even though I think it sucks. Do you think it sucks? I kinda do. But since when did my opinion count?

RAH. Damn I'm hyper right now. It's only 11:02 pm. 9 more minutes and I get to make a wish. I'm going to wish that this chapter gets six reviews because I know people are freaking reading it; it just sucks when they don't review. It's like a slap saying, "Ohai there, I like your story, but I'm not proud of it. Just thought I'd let you know, bitchh!"

Can you see where my mind is right now? It's rotting. I thought I was going to sleep an hour ago but I got caught up in writing this goddamn chapter and here we are. Here's your late-night update, whores. Hope you like it. (And I totally jynxed my ass on that stupid wish. Eeehehehe.)

Love, a very messed-up at 11 pm Scotty.


	5. Snow Globes

**We All Live In A Snow Globe. It Just Matters How Hard It's Shaken.**

Riku is in the hospital.

Roxas is distraught.

What happened yesterday was an accident. He knew that. It was not Riku's fault (entirely, anyway). Sometimes he just gets into these fits when thinking about Sora and it sends him into this berserker-like state where he cannot control a single thing he says or does. It is just a desperation Riku has to be with Sora again. They _were_ best friends from birth, after all. Roxas remembers meeting Riku when he was younger, thinking how adorable of a kid he was. That's seeing as they only have a two-year age difference. There was one year between Riku and Sora. The whole thing is just a huge, discombobulated mess that Roxas wants to end.

Oh, better yet, he could fall over and die. That sounds nice to him too.

The saddest part is that today is Thursday.

Roxas hates Thursdays with a burning passion that could never quite be understood by anyone else. The only thing close to being as bad as a Thursday is a Saturday. Every other day of the week is simple, easy to manage. All the other… clients… are decent people if you really look at it in the scheme of things. But Thursday and Saturday are disgusting, horrible scum that deserves to die according to Roxas.

Saturday is a girl. She's not a bad girl or anything, just really bitchy. Also, Roxas always gets that feeling that the girl silently abhors him under that pretty smile. That's pretty much the only reason he thinks she should burn in hell—it's like she has a conspiracy against him that she will one day employ and use to ruin his life more than it already is ruined (if that's even possible). She never asks him to do anything naughty with her like other people do, but sometimes she forces herself upon him and because the pay is good from this aristocrat's daughter, Roxas has no choice but to take it and move on. He keeps her company and acts as a friend/occasional sex toy, he gets paid. It works. They have a quiet understanding that they are nothing more than friends. Then again, that's a rule that Roxas establishes with _all_ his clients, not just Nam.

As for Thursday…

_Fuck_.

Roxas runs his hand through his hair then buries his face in his hands, trying not to think about it. Compared to this man, Namine is just a lonely girl that needs a friend with benefits. Compared to this man, Namine is a fucking _saint._ There are few things Roxas wouldn't do to get rid of him. That man is so _vile_ that he makes a corpse look absolutely delectable. If Roxas knew how to take a life, rest assured he would take this man's. He would kill him until he was dead.

Redundant, but it's a purposeful statement according to Roxas.

The man is ugly, inside _and_ out.

He is the reason Roxas does not want to get up; the reason he goes to sleep afraid. The calls are almost constant, like a stalker. He could easily pop in and wreck Roxas' life on any day of the week if he really wanted to. But that man lusted for Roxas. That man wanted to keep him at his side constantly, like some sort of… _slave._ Oh, how Roxas hates the though. He pays three times more than Namine's family does, though, and that's only two times more than she pays on her own accord and 'affection' for Roxas.

For the record, that's a fucking lot of money.

_Just breathe. The midnight will do you well. Believe I miss your taste, I miss your smell. The past mistakes that brought you here will break the fall for you my dear,_ rings Roxas' cellphone with Rescue Me by Hawthorne Heights. He fumbles with his baggy pants' pocket as he tries to pull it out. It slips out and falls to the floor.

He groans and reaches down to pick it up as the chorus starts playing. _Rescue me from everything. I just wanna live. I wish I could breathe._

He doesn't bother looking at the caller ID, knowing that he'll miss the call if he does bother. He presses the green button and holds the device up to his ear.

"Hello?" he greets, voice coming out far scratchier than he thought it would. He clears his throat once, twice, three times before it feels sufficient to once again say, "Hello?"

"Why are there pants on the top of the television?" Roxas' cousin, Cloud, asks. Roxas chuckles coldly at the question, giving Cloud a chance to raise his eyebrow and ask, "Is there something I should know about?"

Roxas sighs, rubbing his left eye, fiddling with one of his silver stud earrings. "Riku had another breakdown."

Cloud goes silent for a few seconds that feel like half an hour.

"You still there, dude?" Roxas asks tiredly.

"Yes, I am."

"I don't know how many more of these he's going to have. I'm almost considering moving so he can't get to me anymore," he admits sadly. It's not that he doesn't care about Riku, because he definitely does.

It's just this sick obsession with Sora is turning into a sick obsession with Roxas and Roxas doesn't particularly like that.

"If you want, I have a friend with a vacant room at his place," Cloud offers kindly.

Roxas shakes his head. "Nah, I'm fine. I'll take care of it."

"Roxas…"

He smiles convincingly like he would if Cloud was actually with him in person. "Don't worry. I can handle it."

"…You can't do this forever," Cloud reminds him quietly, concern apparent in his voice.

_On the contrary, cousin,_ Roxas thinks to himself with a smirk. _I could do this for the rest of my life. I'm not weak like you._

X

"Why the hell did I let you convince me to come here?" I ask Isa, perturbed. Somehow he managed to convince me to stay at Marluxia and Arlene's place for another few hours because it _just-so-happens_ to be a party night for them and there's supposed to be like, two hundred people packed in this house. They already have everything set up. The only thing that I need to know is that all the booze is starting in the kitchen because there's no fucking way it won't end up all over the house.

There's about half an hour before a shit ton of people start showing up.

I fucking hate large crowds as of late for some reason. It bothers me. I think I'd rather just be around a small group of people.

So now I'm chilling in the guest bedroom in the house's basement. I'm circling the bed. I'm inspecting the ceiling. I'm looking at the floor. I'm feeling the comforter. I'm doing this because I know I've been in here before.

It was the party where I first really talked to Cloud Strife.

"_How did you take it when they died?_ "

_"At first I was really depressed. I had not been there the night of the fire; I was over my friend Zack's house. I found about it the next morning. I can hardly remember the next year. People tell me I never said a single word and it scared them to death. Some doctors thought I would never talk again…"_

I asked him how he felt when his parents died in that house fire. I felt guilty asking him. That whole conversation I felt agonizingly guilty. But why is the question. I have trouble recollecting why I felt so god-awful guilty talking to him in the first place. I know it has to be important, that much is true.

Afterwards I ended up giving the guy a ride home because he was tired as what and could hardly form a word without slurring. He's a total lightweight.

I don't even know him. I saw him one time at our support group. But I know these things and I know I have to have been around him before to know them. What the fuck is up with my head? Why can I not remember anything? I remember nothing before the day I woke up wondering what the hell happened. Maybe I just need to get wasted.

There's a party tonight.

Maybe I _will_ get wasted.

X

Arlene has never really been a fan of the kind of party her boyfriend Marluxia tends to throw. She prefers things low-key, but you would never guess it if you saw her on the street. Just like tonight; she has on a small leather miniskirt and stilettos with a white V-neck shirt over it. She looks great this way. Anyone would agree that the cut of the shirt takes attention from her random antennas. She could not tell you why her hair does that. It almost always has. It aggravates her little, but eventually complaining about it and futile attempts at fixing it grew dull.

Tonight, instead of being with her man during his party (which for whatever reason he chose to have on a Thursday) she is going to do a repeat of the other day. She packs a heater in her handbag and exits the house, not without Marluxia calling after her before she starts her car.

She takes the key out of the ignition and impatiently taps her foot as he walks over, trying not to seem desperate by running. While she waits for him to make it over, Arlene rolls down the window the old fashioned way—with a crank she had installed. She thinks it helps her forearm strength. "What?" she presses, her facial expression visibly reading 'annoyed.'

Marluxia pouts. "Where are you going?" he asks sadly. He would never admit to how much pain it puts in his heart when she leaves like this, but she does it so often it is nothing more than routine. He should be used to it, but it still hurts him in ways he would rather not try to explain.

Arlene groans inwardly, but only raises a blonde brow. _You stopped me for a stupid question? I have a phone, you know, dumbass. _"I have to run a couple errands," she lies blatantly. "I'll be back before you know it."

His eyes teem with hurt. Arlene swallows what little guilt she feels for doing this to him. If only he knew what she really does when she goes out. If only he knew she is a wanted criminal with delicate skill at covering her tracks. She does so much stealing. She wishes the only thing she had to worry about keeping was Marluxia's heart. But she already has that and with that, she wants more. She wants more than she deserves. She wants _everything_. She deserves _nothing_.

Or maybe she deserves the disapproving shakes of the head that Isa gives her whenever she drives away; or the way he folds hi arms and closes his eyes, sighing deeply in disappointment. She knows he feels she is better than this. So why does she do it?

She just can't stop.

Why couldn't anyone see that?

She bashes her head on the steering wheel, gripping ten and two until her knuckles turn white. Every time she hits her head, the horn goes off.

_Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. _

"Arlene, stop it!" Marluxia shouts, reaching in through the window and putting his hand in front of her head so she hits it instead of the horn. The horn doesn't go off when she slams her head into Marluxia's hand, but it makes a painful _slap_ sound. "Arlene, what's going on? You've been acting strange lately," he says quietly in as comforting of a tone as possible. He uses his extra hand to massage the back of her neck, kneading the skin, giving her a pleasurable sensation of pressure.

She moans, enjoying the feeling. Then, to her dismay, he stops. She stares between the large gap separating the ten and two handles. She wants to admit to her sins. It's right on the back of her lungs. She could say it right now and get it all out in the open, but losing him would break her heart. She knows she can't lose him; she's lost so many people- so many things. She tries to come up with something to take the fall for her actions as a plausible lie. Nothing comes to mind. She resumes her morbid thoughts.

"Arlene, you know you can tell me anything," her pink-haired boyfriend reminds her kindly, kneeling down to her level and staring at her through the open window.

Arlene shakes her head fervently. "No… I can't," she says.

"Oh?" he speculates. "Since when?

"Since…"

The blonde demon wants a way out. She wants to escape this awkward situation and never return to it. Returning to this house and this man sounds fine, but she never wants him to question her. She doesn't like being questioned.

"Since right fucking now, bitch!" she screams, tossing her head back and shoving his hands away. He stumbles, taken aback, collapsing to the plush green lawn that _he_ (big shocker) tends to. Arlene pushes the gear into reverse and slams on the gas. She pulls out of the driveway, making room for the six cars all beeping at each other in desire for the prime-party-parking, and speeds down the crowded street, evading traffic as she goes.

Two cars manage to make it into the driveway before the other four each press their horns angrily. Who wouldn't want the best parking for a party like this? Marluxia's parties are infamous. In a newspaper notice ad, it'd probably say something about getting _it_ up, getting tanked and getting laid—three things that one guest in particular planned on doing tonight. But that someone hasn't figured out that someone else has the same idea.

That someone hasn't figured out that a lot of people have the same idea.

X

Bodies… pressed up against each other… tongues wrestling for dominance… refuses to lose. Don't care what happens… just have to get… out of this life… let go…

* * *

Oh yeah, I spoiled you today. I gave you a nice long chapter with more insight on Roxas' predicament and other fun stuffs. I know you like fun stuffs! And I know a lot of you are getting pissed off at me because this isn't looking very AkuRoku-y right now, but believe me when I tell you that the next chapter is the start of another intrusive subplot (involving Axey getting Roxy back. Woop)! I promise that the chapter after that is going to have AkuRoku in it. Possibly some lime. Not sure yet. (I don't write smut if you haven't noticed...)

I'm sorry if I continue to disappoint you, but if you want quality, you just have to deal with having a storyline that isn't PWP. I gotta make the characters work to solve their problems. Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed/reviewing and if I haven't responded to your review, I'm sorry! It's a lot to keep track of and I don't think I responded to all the Matchstick Houses either, even though I tried. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me you guys. You make my days a lot brighter.


	6. I Wasn't Always On My Knees

**I Wasn't Always the One on Their Knees…**

I stumble over myself as I try to rise to my feet, falling flat on my face in Midmorning Hangover Mode. Shit. Maybe I shouldn't have partied so hard last night; I wouldn't feel quite so shitty. I force my upper body weight onto my elbows and try to army-crawl across my room. It's an epic fail—I collapse in the middle of one shuffle. My body is weak. My brain is tired. Why the hell did I even bother waking up? Fuck me.

I lift my head just barely so I can try seeing where I am in my room, but blocking my vision is a neatly folded sheet of paper with a heart drawn on the front. Who's the loser that draws their hearts with an X through it? I reach out and grab it, flipping myself onto my back in the process. I unfold it carefully, wondering what it could be. If it is something special, I wouldn't dare to wreck the crisp lines and off-white coloring. I would die if it faded.

_Axel,_

_I bet wherever you are you're reading this. You're probably being a pedophile over my shoulder while I write this. I swear I can feel you here. Not a day goes by when I don't miss you. I doubt I'll ever understand why you did what you did, but as I've learned, I knew nothing about you._

What the hell is this…? It looks so familiar… I have to have seen this before. I mean, it's written for me obviously. But who wrote this? I read through the rest of the note, my heart wrenching at certain parts. Parts like, _Do you know how killing you made him feel, _or maybe it was the, "_It took me a few days to fall in love with you and it would take me a few lifetimes to get over you"_ that made me want to throw up at the sincerity. I swear I know this note. I don't have to read the rest of it to know what it says, but I do anyway just to torture myself. I know this note well. I remember watching him write it from bird's eye view.

I only remember _that_ because I know I was dead. Roxas wrote this to me after I pleaded Cloud to kill me for what I did to his parents. I hated the fight with Namine that lead up to me begging Cloud to coat me in gasoline and ignite my body. I hated myself for burning down the Strife household.

That's how all of this started.

Fuck. I killed the Strife family. I killed myself. Who the hell didn't I kill? I didn't kill Roxas' little brother Sora. I didn't kill Roxas. I mean, emotionally I probably did when I died, but that's beside the point. Is there a single life I didn't destroy? Is there any one person that I didn't ruin?

I know one person who can tell me.

I rest the sheet of paper on my chest and close my eyes. Maybe if I fall asleep, that beautiful brunette woman will return to me. The one who gave me this 'second chance at life' bullshit should be able to do something, right?

X

_"You called, Axel?" the familiar, mild voice greets me more pleasantly than I wished. I would like to have an excuse to go completely rip-shit on her for what she has done to me, but she has given me no good justification. Her bright blue eyes sparkle mischievously. Her long brown hair blows in the light breeze. Her ankle-length pink dress remains perfectly still on her body._

_I hold up the sheet of paper and show her with whatever remnant of a glare I can muster at the moment. "When was this written? When did I die? Why couldn't I remember anything before? Tell me what happened, woman!" I demand, leaping to my feet. I distinctly feel the cool wind tickling my skin. I try not to think about the fact I'm only in my boxers. I bet I have a stupid morning-wood, too. That's just great. How am I supposed to be taken seriously like this?_

_"Now Axel," she says soothingly, folding her arms in a motherly faux-scolding way, "one question at a time. I can't explain everything with the same answer, you know."_

_I drop the paper to my side, still clutching it tightly by an edge, crinkling a corner with my death grip. "Fine then let's start with the first one. When did I die?"_

_The lady frowns. It does no justice for her. I don't like the way a frown looks on her face. I think she should be smiling. What am I saying? She did _this_ to me! Of course she deserves to frown. "Almost a year ago," she admits. "You were only gone for about six months."_

_I take agitated breaths through my nose, nostrils definitely flaring as I huff. I try to keep as cool as possible. "Okay." Baby steps, Axel. Say nothing you will regret. I try to ask another question, but the words get caught in my throat. Why won't they come out? I just want to ask her _why_._

_"Are you alright?" she asks, lacing her tone with concern._

_I drop to my knees. The sheet of paper releases from my hand as my fist unclenches. My arms go limp. I hang my head. Tears stream from my eyes, down into the nothingness below the invisible floor. "Why" is all I can manage. I fall weakly, my thighs hitting my calves as I bury my face in numb hands. My eyes burn. What is this? It hurts. "Why did you have to bring me back?" I scream at her, throwing my arms down furiously. "I was dead! I should have stayed that way! All you did was make peoples' lives harder by bringing a life ruining fuck like me back!"_

_I clasp my eyes shut, gritting my teeth, pushing back sobs. _

_A warm, smooth hand lightly rests on my shoulder. _

_Another hand heavily sets itself on my other shoulder. It does not feel anything like the woman's—it is cold. It is dead. I do not think I've ever felt such a rough hand on my shoulder._

_I toss my head back and look at the owner of the rough hand._

_"Do you know who I am?" the silver-haired man asks. _

_My eyes go wide. They try to close as tears flow backwards into them uncomfortably. I shake my head. I feel strands of my hair that have fallen onto my face. The rest hangs behind me limply. This man frightens me. He has dark bags under his black eyes. His hair is longer than the woman's, nearly touching his feet. The only reason it does not is because it drifts behind him, making him look matriarchal in the darkest, most disgusting way I have ever seen._

_"Axel," the girl that has guided me through this says my name. I force my eyes away from the man to look at her. She smiles softly. She and the man both reach their hands to the backs of my shoulder blades and push me up so I am not leaning back in an awkward, spine-breaking way. She holds out her hand to me once I am up. Is she offering to shake hands? "My name is Aerith. This is Sephiroth."_

_Those names… So familiar to me... So… _insignificant _now… So helpless… So…_

_Dead._

_Dead because I killed them._

_If my eyes could get any wider, I sure they have by now. Tears erupt from my eyes like lava from a volcano. Sobs explode from my body. I hang my head and cry uncontrollably. _

_I scream at the top of my lungs between sobs. _

_"Stop your wallowing, you annoying boy," the gut-wrenching voice of the man orders. The sound of the demand immediately shuts off my sissy-ness if that makes any sense. But it does. I try to go back to being as masculine as possible. (Not that that's possible right now, but it would be nice.) "You know who I am now?" he asks with a scowl._

_"You're…" I swallow. Hard. "You are Aerith and Sephiroth Strife…" I whisper, scared to speak in a tone that would anywhere _near_ to being near to rivaling Sephiroth's. Aerith smiles at me when I say that and nods for me to continue. "I…" I swallow again, the lump in my throat accumulating again as soon as the first is gone. A hammer twirls like a pinwheel in my stomach. "I…"_

_"Go on, Axel," the brunette woman encourages, placing her hand at the base of my neck at my collar. Her touch is warm against my shivering skin. It is very cold right now. Maybe it is just because of Sephiroth. "You can say it."_

_I bite my lower lip and shake my head, shutting my eyes. "I can't."_

_"Don't be so stupid, Axel. One more cop-out like that and I'll destroy you," Sephiroth threatens._

_He is not a nice guy. He is not a happy guy. He looks like the kind of guy that would gladly take me down. So why does his threat feel so… weak?_

_I find myself snorting. "You can't hurt me. I killed you, not the other way around."_

_The smile on Aerith's face does not falter. In fact, it widens and touches her eyes. They crinkle in the corners cheerfully. Sephiroth, on the other hand, looks notably pissed. I can see why, but nonetheless. His scowl is deeper than the Hudson as he folds his arms and turns his back._

_"See?" Aerith muses. I raise an eyebrow at her as my eyes open cautiously. Sephiroth's back is to me, just like I thought. I can almost see laser beams shooting from his ears. He'd listen to me if I talked to him now if it meant he could shoot me. "There's nothing wrong to admitting your mistakes," she declares. "Did anyone come by and hurt you?"_

_"Seph over there wants to," I grumble pointedly. I visualize a gloom cloud hanging above his head in defeat. _

_"Sephiroth isn't going to hurt you. And neither is anyone else."_

_I sigh. I hate to say it, but, "What does any of this have to do with why I couldn't remember anything up until now? And why don't people remember me?" I ask her. I think of Roxas when I say this._

_Roxas with his ocean eyes I want to drown in._

_Roxas with his perfect smile I cover with my own when we were locked in kisses before._

_"What about… Roxas?" I ask solemnly, voice fading._

_The same Roxas who doesn't remember me…_

_"The same rules that apply to everyone else apply to Roxas," Aerith explains, kneeling down beside me._

_"What rules are those?"_

_"You see," she says, settling down on her knees, "No one forgot the memories they had of you. They are all still there. All the memories you made with your ex Namine still exist. The only thing missing from those memories… is you."_

_"How can I be missing from memories about me?" I exasperate._

_She whacks my shoulder half-heartedly. "It's for the better this way. Namine doesn't remember you broke her heart. Isa… well… he was difficult. I couldn't erase anything of you whatsoever from his mind. It was like… he refused. Even in his sleep he refused to let go of you when he was at his weakest." She smiles fondly and turns her head to stare into the distance as if there is something out there. "I met him in a dream once," she admits. "He would rather die than let go of your friendship. Does it sound like you ruin peoples' lives in that retrospect, Axel?" she asks tensely. "Would he fight for you if you ruined his life?"_

_I feel my face heating up, recalling Isa's love confession for me a while back. I tried to push that out of my mind the minute it happened. I didn't want to think about it. He is my best friend. I see him as nothing more than a brother, nothing less than a best friend. But I still knew, somewhere deep down in my rotted heart, that he would give his life for me in an instant with no second thoughts or regrets._

_"Roxas fought even harder," Aerith tells me as she bursts into a tiny fit of giggles. "I had to get Seph's help on that one. It was difficult, but we managed to do it somehow."_

_What did they do to him..? _

_Why did they erase me from his mind..?_

_"__**Why won't he remember me?**__"I scream, infuriated. My whole body has heated up by now. There is no cold; only sweat drops beading on my arms and the backs of my knees. Aerith looks taken aback. I don't fucking care. I fucking love Roxas with all my fucking being and she wipes me from his memory? What's wrong with her! "Why did you erase me from his memories? What did I do? Things with him were fucking great! Did you not see that? Did you not see how happy we were? How _he _was? How happy Cloud was to see his cousin happy again? What the fuck is wrong with you!"_

_I leap to my feet. My body is shaking uncontrollably with rage. I can't take this anymore. I'm going to explode. _

_Then there is fire everywhere; fire engulfing this white world; fire seeping from my body; fire evaporating from my skin as smoke. Flames are burning behind me. I can smell them. I smell the familiarity of this all. _

_Finally, Sephiroth turns back around to face me, a sword in his hand. Aerith, obviously frightened, backs away toward her husband. I chuckle darkly. "What? You think that you can save yourselves?" I ask, cracking out my knuckles and neck. I stretch out my hands._

_Chakrams appear in them. They are silver with fire red rings and accents. They are huge and have spikes protruding from the inner and outer rings._

_Oh fuck yes!_

_I laugh. This situation—it's funny. I killed them with fire once. Looks like I get to do it again._

_"You think you can take me?" I snarl; it rips from my lips on its own. _

_I killed them once._

_I can do it again._

_Sephiroth runs at me. I take stance and ready my new weapons that are each at least three times the size of my head. They ignite. As the father of Cloud Strife—the same Cloud Strife I have come to deeply care about and admire—runs at me, anger scalding me through his eyes, I stop._

_What am I doing?_

_I stumble back a couple steps. Don't lose focus now, Axel._

_"Don't lose focus now, Lea…"_

_Who was that?_

_I turn my head as Sephiroth slashes at me. I hold up a chakram as a shield and push him away, shooting an aisle of fire at him. He leaps back about eight meters._

_"You're just like your old man—evasive, cool, and collected."_

_Who… Who's talking to me?_

_"Yo Lea, I'm so proud of you. Seeing ya following my footsteps warms my heart, kid."_

_…Reno?_

_I mean, 'dad'?_

_"Come on, even though I wasn't _really_ your real dad doesn't mean you gotta be an asshole, kid. You look more like me than your real father anyway."_

_What the fuck—Sephiroth attacks me again and I force him back by whipping one of the flaming discs at him; he dodges it and it boomerangs back to me—are you doing here, Reno?_

_This is worse than my worst fucking nightmares._

_"Hey, people just thought I was your dad because you look so much like me but yer so much younger, kiddy."_

_Can you please fucking explain? Make yourself useful if you're going to risk my life against the people I killed!_

_"So they're the Strifes?"_

_Yeah, no shit. _

_"Hot mom that chick is. How old ya think she is?"_

_Reno!_

_"Alright, alright, kid! Geez cool yer jets. Take a chill pill."_

_I ain't got all day, Reno!_

_Sephiroth slashes his sword at the thin air, sending a huge psybeam of wind at me. Shit. Shit. Shit. Could really use some advice, Reno!_

_"I'm in jail. What the fuck do I know?"_

_Dude!_

_"Fine… Um… First fucking _move_ out of the way of that thing, then catch him off guard. Hell I don't know."_

_I try to follow his orders as best I can. Shockingly, it works for me. He is forced to protect Aerith instead of watch himself as fire comes at them from both sides. Good plan, Reno. So can you answer one thing for me?_

_"Sure, why not."_

_If you're not my father, what are you in relation to me? And where's my real father?_

_"A, I'm like… everyone in the world has someone almost identical to them. We're not twins, just doppelgangers. B, I don't fucking know. I was with your mom- who's like, seven years older than me and good ass candy –after your dad left her. You were probably too young to remember."_

_So you're the one who hit me around?_

_"No, that was your dad."_

_So you look identical to my dad, too?_

_"Fuck off; I don't have all the answers!"_

_Fine, maybe I will fuck off. Once I wake up._

_Wait a second… _

_This is all a dream._

_Yet it still breaks my heart when I look down and see the notebook paper with the most loving note in history written by Roxas on it and watch it burn away as the fire touches it, taking off his words, leaving not even the most subtle 'I love you'._

_This is just… a dream… _

X

My eyes shoot open. My body is covered in sweat. The front of my boxers is wet. Go figure, I pissed my pants. That was not the most freakishly realistic dream I've had in the history of my life or anything. But it felt so real. It had to have been real. There's no way that didn't just actually happen. That had to have happened.

The flames were so hot.

Aerith and Sephiroth were so human.

Reno was there. I haven't thought about Reno as someone other than my father- in theory or otherwise –since I was like eight.

_The note!_ My mind shrieks at me. I look down at my stomach. The note is still resting on it. I sigh in deep relief. Maybe it was just a dream. I don't know what I'm going to do about the fucked-up nightmares. I should probably see a doctor about that. But there's one person I need to see way fucking more than a doctor right now.

I press the note against my chest, holding it, cherishing it as I jump to my feet.

Looks like I'll have to remind him myself.

* * *

How weird was that, right? Now Axel has met Sephiroth as well as Aerith and we now know more about his past! As for that comment of the end of the last chapter, I know I didn't address it in this chapter. Well, you're going to have to wait a little bit for that. It's got a large part to play in this story. Good news, it is! I really hoped you like this. I mean literally, this chapter completely wrote itself. It just flowed entirely and I kept writing until it was done. Also, it's real effing long. Next chapter has some Roxas-remembery stuff! Woo-hoo! You excited? I am! Anyways, I'm done with this chapter. Reviews make my day and you guys review. Some of you are so effing sweet and say such nice things it's insane. Just thought I'd say, I LOVE YOU. Seriously, I DO. MARRY ME.

Actually, I'm already committed to a friend's left foot. Sorry to disappoint. Eeeheheheh.

Scotty


	7. I Fell

**Love Turned It Around. I Fell.**

I stand outside his door. My white t-shirt is clinging to my skin, soaked from the torrential downpour just outside the apartment building. My hair is drenched, sticking to all sides of my face. My bangs are stuck to my eyelashes and it's really aggravating me. I don't know the last time I travelled through a typhoon, but even if it was not too long ago, this has to be worse. It's worse because I do not even know if this will turn out worthwhile. It's worse because I know I could get rejected. And it's the worst because no matter whether I get rejected or not, Roxas is still going to think I'm fucking crazy.

For the record, I am most certainly _not_ crazy. I'm just a victim of unfair circumstance.

Then again, I chose to die. So this is probably all my fault.

_Probably?_

Okay, so it _is_ entirely my fault. I cannot just leave it be, though. I have to make it right.

I raise my fist, preparing to knock. But for some reason… I can't do it. I can't bring myself to do it. Sighing in a defeated way, I wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Maybe I was never even meant to meet Roxas. It would explain why Aerith got rid of his memories of me. Yeah. That's it—we were never supposed to meet again like we did before (even though _he_ hall-raped _me_ when we met) but we did so now history is doomed to repeat itself.

I don't want to die again…

I… I can't do this.

I turn and walk away, leaving everything that I could ever want in life behind me.

Then the weirdest thing happens.

"Axel..?" Roxas' voice wonders aloud. I stop walking, listening closely as the door creaks all the way open. "I saw you through the peephole. What're you doing here?" he asks. I picture him leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. I hear a thud and assume that's my imagination at work.

I turn around to see that he is, in fact, leaning against the wall. Oh God, why does he have to look so bangable? He's wearing a white shirt with green sleeves and a pair of black shorts. I want to take them off of him so badly right now that I cannot even describe. My libido is going crazy. His hair is all messy and he has that _yeah I know I look sexy after a day on the couch _look going for him a hundred percent.

"Eh… It's nothing," I discard my whole hysteric, apocalyptic drive over here with two words and an '_eh_.' He gives me a queer look like he knows I am trying to BS him. "Okay, fine." I admit that, "I really need to talk to you."

"Why didn't you just say so? You could've called, y'know," he points out, removing his phone from between his boxers and shorts, waving it in the air like I'm an idiot.

I shove my hands in my pockets and lie. "I don't have your number."

He tilts his head curiously. Don't look at me with those eyes- especially not this way. It hurts that you haven't looked at me the same. That gaze used to be filled with something between love and careful kindness. But now it isn't there. So don't look at me that way, Roxas. Don't remind me that you don't love me anymore because it just fucking sucks.  
Damn I wish I hadn't found that note. I wish I didn't remember how much you used to love me.

"Then how do you know where I live?" you ask me, taking a step back into your apartment, motioning for me to follow you.

I comply. "Cloud told me," I tell you, which isn't entirely a lie. He just told me a long time ago and I never forgot. Alright, so maybe I _did_ forget. The point is I still know where you live.

I don't sound like a stalker or anything…

Your place looks exactly the same as when I was last here, however long ago that may be. I still feel strangely at ease here. I know where your bedroom is so do not try to give me a tour. We fucked in there, remember? And it was fantastic. And your bathroom is on the opposite side of the hallway. Your shower is ivory with a silver showerhead. You use kiwi-lime scented shampoo but drown it out with vanilla perfume that makes you seem like a chick. I don't care, though. I'm supposed to be the masculine one here anyway. I'm like two feet taller than you and can pin you to a wall with no effort whatsoever. I could hold you down and never let you get up without expending that much energy.

Please don't take me to your room.

I look at the couch in the living room and see Cloud Strife asleep on it. I raise an eyebrow.

"He went to some wild party last night. Come on, let's talk in my room," you suggest.

My life is horrible.

I follow you down the short hallway to your room at the end of it. You cleaned, I notice—the room is in immaculate condition. It's cleaner than mine, which is for sure. The bed is made and it looks like I could bounce a quarter off of it.

Can we mess it up the sexy way?

"It looks nice this time," I tell you, inadvertently adding the 'this time'. You give me a weird look but start blushing furiously. I love when you turn that shade of pink.

I love you in general.

Not even kidding.

"Take a seat," you tell me, pointing to your bed in a half-assed way, scratching at your bicep awkwardly.

Cute.

"So what is it you wanted?" you ask, I thought you never would. I was kind of hoping you wouldn't.

I take a deep breath and brace myself for the inevitable. Good-bye, Roxas. I'm sorry that I had to do things this way. I'm sorry I ever let go of my life. I'm sorry I let go of you.

"The last time you dreamt about your aunt and uncle, your memories, of everything up until about a year before it, were distorted," I inform you. I'm sitting with my back hunched, elbows on my knees, head hung. I can't look at you, Roxas. If I do, I'll probably throw up. I'm so disgusted with myself for everything I've done to you. I can't bear to look up and see your confused eyes—those vexing eyes with the power to obliterate me—looking back down at me. "Aerith and Sephiroth came to you in a dream a while back, didn't they?"

Roxas, your brow furrows. Your lips curl in antipathy. "How do you know about that?" you ask.

"Because…" I whisper, wanting to turn back. But there's no time.

"Cut the shit and tell me Axel. I've only met you one fucking time. I don't even talk about them anymore because it pisses off Cloud," you snap.

I sigh, beaten. I rummage through my front pants pocket and pull out a folded sheet of paper. I stare at the perfectly round heart drawn on it. Offering it to you in my open palm, arm out at a distance; I try to jog your memory. "You wrote this for me after," I swallow my pride and finish with, "after I died."

You snatch the paper from my hand, staring carefully at the heart drawn on it. Does it look like your drawing? I think it does. It has to. You wrote that note. I was standing behind you, watching as you wrote it. I ran my hands over your body, ghosting over your shoulders, pressing my freezing lips against your neck. I tried to stay close to you. I tried so hard. Perhaps we just push each other away.

You unfold the paper cautiously, facial expression going from angry to upset, hands shaking, eyes grazing over the paper with care like they used to graze over my face. It hurts my heart to see you showing more emotion in those limpid eyes for a sheet of paper you probably will deny is yours than you will by looking at me. You don't even remember me.

Five minutes go by.

Fifteen minutes go by.

An _hour_ goes by before you finally take your eyes off the note you wrote me. Tears are dripping from your eyes, falling to the carpet with quiet thuds. We have been in silence this whole hour. I think it only took you so long because you reread it multiple times. I have been watching the patterns of your eye movement. I smiled remorsefully when you read the part about Zexion, my ex-therapist, marrying the psycho-blonde Demyx from support group; I inwardly chuckled when you got to the part about me giving you a shoulder massage. You did, too. Your eyes watered at the end when you said you would always love me. The first time you read through, you clutched your head when you got to the end then immediately started it over like you missed something or there were words between the lines or double meanings to what you were saying. You still think you don't know me. Obviously, though, you do. You know me well. You know me and you love me.

You just don't remember that yet.

Finally, you speak.

"I… I wrote this, didn't I?"

"I don't know any other Roxas."

"I think… you're insane," you tell me, outstretching your arm and holding the letter out to me. I take it from you gratefully and refold it, shoving it back in my pocket. "But… I think… I remember writing that…"

My heart skips a beat. I lift my head up, looking at you squarely for the first time in over an hour. _Please don't be lying to me, Roxas. Whatever you do, don't lie to me. Not now. I couldn't take it._

"You… Axel… You asked Cloud to soak you in gasoline and… burn you to death," you recall. Your eyes keep watering; they are being honest. You do remember.

_Oh thank God. Thank you Lord._

You clench your fists at your side, unclench them. Clench them, unclench them.

_Damn. What'd I do now?_

The next thing I know, you leap at me, throwing your arms around my neck, pushing me back onto your bed full-force in a tackle, crying into my shirt which has just started to dry. You cling to me desperately, sobbing, burying your face in the crook of my neck.

"Why in fucking hell did you leave me?" you scream, right into my ear for shit's sake because you're so close to me. "What the fuck is wrong with you, you asshole?"

Then the screaming stops. You don't ease up on the tears though.

_Phew. At least it was just that. _I raise my arms nervously; wrap them around your waist. I clutch your shirt in my hands and clutch them good, trying to keep them in my death grip so you couldn't get away. _You're not getting away this time._

After what feels like- and is –a few hours, the commotion has settled down, meaning you have stopped crying so heavily and have worn yourself out, settling for silent tears dripping against my neck, making me shudder once in a while when I don't expect their cold salt to touch my skin. I release one fistful of your shirt and use that hand to run through your hair.

_I missed you so much._

"Don't… Don't leave me again," you plead quietly, breath warm against the cool spots where tears are drying.

_I'm not leaving you again, Roxas._

"I won't," I tell you, not sure whether I could make that a promise or not. But if you ask me to, I'll still promise anyway.

"Promise me you won't," you demand.

I chuckle to myself. Murphy's Law is at work. "I promise I won't," I whisper, placing a light kiss on your forehead.

You suddenly say, "I… I just want you to know I don't remember everything. I can just see some of the stuff in my head."

_There isn't a hell of a lot to remember. Just please tell me you didn't forget the sex._

"As far as I can remember, I… I love you a fucking lot and never told you…"

My heart skips a few beats in joy before slamming against my ribs cheerfully.

"But… we didn't know each other all that well," you remind me. My heart stops throbbing and I calm myself down. You suggest, "Maybe we should get to know each other better."

I shift awkwardly a little so I'm in the position to look down upon your soft, beautiful face. Those eyes are half-closed, drooping tiredly. They're also red from crying, but I don't really think about it. I'm just thinking about how stunning you are and the fact you're in my arms again.

"That sounds _wonderful_," I state.

You open your eyes all the way and roll them so you're meeting my gaze. You close your eyes and place a single light kiss on my mouth and everything up until now, whether in my first life or this one, feels totally worthwhile.

* * *

Back to back updates, bitches! Who's happy? **I am!** You have my good pals, Dan and Emily to thank for that. I've been in a fabulous mood today and really, really, really, really, really wanted to update this because my mood is just so great. Maybe it's because I didn't take my meds today... No seriously, I didn't. I bet you liked this chapter, fan girls! Can I get a "HELL YEAHHH!" ? No, not really. But if you wanna, go ahead and click the review button. Give me a "HELL YEAHHH!". It'd be nice. Now this back-to-back (get it-back to back?) comes at a small price, kiddos. I'm leaving for a vacation the day after tomorrow. Obviously I'll have my computer with me, but I won't have daily access to you like I usually do. Updates will be every other or every three days. Something like that. I will update though, that's a promise. Bitches Honor.

And think of it this way, the more time between updates to write, the higher quality writing and maybe even dot dot dot MORE CHAPTERS? Z.O.M.G! I already have the rest of the plot figured out for this whore and I have the ending planned... okay, so maybe the ending but I know where this is going to go before it ends. That's good. I have a small request of you. I love you all dearly and hate to sound like a shallow, arrogant prick because I'm not a shallow, arrogant prick. I'm just saying that because it's going to be harder to update, **could you _please_ review if you read the chapter**? I don't want to be going out of my way to update when it feels so... I don't know, unappreciated. Writing is my life. If I lose that, well I got nothin'. So don't take that away from a helpless dreamer.

Just review. Even if it's something so simple as a, "kewt chappy" or a "loveee it!" or as crazy and admirable the things that some of my favorite reviewers like AngelScar01 and Zarai (I spelled that correctly, right?) write, I appreciate every single one. It brightens a day and inspries people to keep going.

I'll see you in a few days!

Scotty.


	8. Make Me Feel Clean

**So Dirty- Make Me Feel Clean**

I wake up, but I don't open my eyes. I feel something… some_one_ in my arms. I take a subtle whiff. It smells like Roxas. My arms are around his waist, his hands resting on my chest, head next to mine while he lies fully on top of me. This is all I gather without my eyes open. Please, God, if this was supposed to happen… if I was supposed to be reunited with Roxas… please let this be him when I open my eyes. I don't want to find out I wasted my emotions on a heartless screw, especially if I ended up moaning Roxas' name because I can definitely see me doing that. That would not only embarrass me but earn Roxas some undeserved hatred. There's nothing wrong with him and he doesn't deserve that shit.

Roxas… is spectacular.

I open one eye slowly, afraid of what I might see. _Please be Roxas. Please be Roxas. Please, please, fucking _please_ be Roxas…_

Dirty blonde hair brushing against my jawline, white t-shirt with green sleeves, and a familiar feeling to the hands heating my chest through my shirt affirm that this is Roxas. This is Roxas and this is real.

And this is way too good to be true.

I close my eyes again and smile in satisfaction.

It doesn't matter if he doesn't remember everything yet. As long as he knows he loves me, I think I'll be just fine.

I feel a yawn coming from Roxas as his jaw moves against me. I make sure I can see his eyes- those striking blue orbs –when they open. I want to see them peering back up at me in that sweet and innocent yet deep and tortured. I wonder what hides behind that gaze. I know he has secrets that he probably won't tell me for a while. Maybe he never will. Just because I sort-of got him back doesn't mean we're together or that he has to totally tear his heart open for me like a lot of people would try to make someone. No. I don't want to make Roxas do anything. I want him to do it by himself. I will cherish him and treat him right and never hurt him or allow him to get hurt again.

Remember, buddy: I died for this.

Roxas' eyes open sluggishly. He blinks a couple times then directs the tired regards to me. He smiles drowsily, but still adorably. I smile down at him without trying to give him some creepy pedo-look that will turn him away from me.

"You're still here…" he muses. I notice the bags under his eyes have faded a little, as have the dark rings.

I chuckle to myself and tilt his chin up with two fingers so our faces are in close proximity being only centimeters away from a sweet caress against each other's lips.

"I promised you, didn't I?"

That I did.

I'm glad I finally made a promise I could keep.

X

"Shit," Arlene hisses as she burns herself with the lighter by accident while trying to start up a cigarette she has dangling between her pursed lips. She scowls at her reflection in the mirror, looking at the burn on her left cheek. It taints her. She has more reason to be disgusted with herself than ever. She slams her hand on the wheel. "Fuck."

She has driven for the past four hours, following the highway to nowhere in particular, just escaping the people she hates. Right now she's at a rest stop, trying to get a grip. Marluxia has called her seven times in half an hour, trying to get an explanation no doubt. What if there is no explanation? What if a question has no answer or is ambiguous and open-ended? What is one to do then?

Arlene doesn't know and doesn't want to. Now, she just wants to get away.

At the same time she doesn't want to be alone though; she wants someone to suffer her pain with her.

An idea strikes. She whips her phone out of her purse with ease and prays (for once) for there to be Wi-Fi around so she can access the internet. To her dismay, there is none. She smacks the rim of the steering wheel again. The demon woman yanks the gear into reverse, pulls out of her parking space, and hustles out of the desolate lot, jumping back on the highway. She's going based off what she hopes could be true: if she keeps driving straight, eventually she'll find a stop with Wi-Fi. And when she finds Wi-Fi, she can get the phone number of the guy she's looking for.

How nice it will be to not have to undergo this shit alone.

X

Two more hours pass. Arlene's feet are long since numb. Her eyelids are slipping shut every few seconds. If she cannot find a pull-off soon, she'll fall asleep at the wheel for sure and hurt someone. That wouldn't be good. Not because she doesn't want to hurt anyone—because Arlene doesn't care how other people feel—but because if she got caught now, Marluxia- or worse, Isa –would find out and disown her. As far as she is concerned for now, Marluxia already is pissed at her for leaving like she did and acting like a total tool.

Finally she sees a rest stop. It has a large building with fast food restaurants lining it, no doubt. To Arlene's excitement, that usually means that they have internet, too!

_Thank you, sweet mother of God._

She eagerly takes the off-ramp down to the stop and struggles for a bit to find decent parking. When she does, she gets on the internet from her cellular device. Within minutes she has found the phone number of the man she wants a little _help_ from.

She closes the browser and dials the number, waiting three rings before someone picks up.

"Hello?" a tired, raspy voice yawns at her.

Arlene has a more devilish grin than the Cheshire Cat. "Miss me, buddy?" she purrs evilly.

The man chuckles softly. She can hear him shaking his head but it doesn't faze her. She leans back in her driver's seat, staring listlessly out the window. "You could call it that," the man muses.

Arlene snickers.

This is going to be too easy.

X

Roxas had made Axel leave on short notice because he knew Cloud would wake up sooner or later. Roxas didn't like the idea of trying to explain things to his already-insane cousin so he sent a disappointed- yet at the same time strangely delighted –Axel home.

Luckily, Roxas was right. Cloud wakes up not five minutes after Axel drove away.

"Rox…as?" he groans, rolling over onto his side on the couch.

Roxas smiles softly at his cousin and pets the older boy's head, distinctly taking notes about the consistency and quality of the light blonde locks. Roxas finds he envies the hair but tries to ignore it. "What's up? What happened? You came home a mess then fell asleep on the couch," he informs Cloud, kneeling down beside him.

Cloud shakes his head with much effort. "Can't remember… party… drunk… sex…"

Roxas' eyebrows shoot up. "You cheated on Tifa?" he hisses, smacking his elder's arm. Cloud grunts. Roxas glowers. "You're engaged, dumbass. What were you doing at a party in the first place? You know you can't take it."

Cloud shakes his head, trying to be in denial as long as possible apparently. "No cheat… drunk… pointless..."

Roxas nods knowingly, understanding the hangover voice. "Are you going to tell Tifa?" he asks, running his fingers through the gold locks some more, comforting his ailed cousin. Sitting beside said blond on his knees, Roxas leans his head on the arm of the sofa with a yawn.

Cloud shakes his head again. "No… Can't… Leave…"

Roxas sighs, perplexing thoughts leading to creases on his brow. "You can't hide it forever, Cloud. You'll have to tell her in case something happens."

"Can't… Tifa… Leave…"

"Tifa's not going to leave you, Cloud," Roxas assures him.

Maybe it's because Axel was just here and Roxas finally remembers how much he formerly cared about Axel that makes Roxas feel like being a love guru. It's not like he is one to talk, though; his relationship with Axel is something out of a fairytale. It hardly even exists. They aren't together. They aren't dating. The only thing that happened was Roxas read the note and started to remember how much he loved Axel at one point. Sure he doesn't have the same gravitational pull in Ax's direction like he did before, but for now this would just have to be enough to keep the redhead off his back.

Of course, there's a lot to be remembered by Roxas that he has yet to figure out. He never found out why Axel asked Cloud to kill him, so that was something that Roxas would not be able to find as easily. For that he knows he has to go to Cloud since Axel would never tell him. (Contrary to this belief, Axel would tell him if he asked but wouldn't be too happy about thinking of it.) Somehow this whole thing turned supernatural when Axel mentioned the dream Roxas had about Aerith and Sephiroth. Now the little blonde prostitute was curious.

What about the conversation between he and his dead aunt caused him to forget things and warp his memory? There has to be a logical explanation. Everything is supposed to have a logical explanation. Roxas curiously closes his eyes, trying to remember the dream.

About it he remembers quite a few things—it was a painfully realistic dream. Sephiroth and Aerith appeared to have not aged a single day. Aerith, surprisingly, looked a little younger. What contributed to that? Something has to be keeping them that young-looking.

Roxas looks down mildly at Cloud. Way back when Axel was a less-decent guy that lit innocent squirrels on fire, Roxas remembers something about the man and his cousin. They were in some sort of feud, weren't they? They really didn't like each other for the most part. Thankfully it is mutual so neither one of them is particularly _bothered_ by it. But Roxas is bothered deeply. The thought of the one he loves and his only remaining real family hating each other hurts him. They could try to set their differences aside for Roxas, but from what the small teen has learned in the short time he remembers Axel is a stubborn fuck. He doesn't like to lose. He doesn't like to think about the consequences before he can act. Spontaneous is better.

_Cloud is almost the opposite of Axel if you look at it that way,_ Roxas thinks.

It's true, too. Cloud likes to know what's going on and when so he can prepare ahead of time. He's also a rather agreeable person unless you piss him off, but you have to do something pretty bad to manage that. Cloud also is very mellow. He doesn't like to go places or do much. He even works with a private psychologist named Squall, who like Cloud doesn't appreciate having a lot of company gathered at any one time.

_It's funny how, things work out. The ones we need don't know we're there. If I were sand and you were oceans, the moon would be why you're pulled to me_.

Roxas realizes his cellphone is ringing with one of his favorite songs: Dream to Make Believe by Armor For Sleep. If he knows his phone though, then he knows it's only bringing news of impending doom. He glances at a calendar on his way to the bedroom. The past few days aren't crossed off yet, but today is a Saturday.

Shit.

The boy picks up his phone nervously, clearing his throat. "Hey," he nonchalantly greets his… _client_.

"What are you up to today, sweetheart?" a maniacal, deep voice coos from the other line. "We haven't seen each other in a while."

_What do you know; seven days of freedom are over. I should have seen this coming._

"Really, it's been that long?" Roxas feigns surprise, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably.

"Don't mince with me, child," the smooth voice spits. The glare is evident in the tone. It goes back to normal seamlessly. "The day is almost over and I have yet to see you… Where and when would you like to meet up?" he asks.

Roxas feels tempted to yell at him for pretending to be a decent guy when he's nothing but scum; the only thing holding him back is how hypocritical it would be. Roxas is no better than the man he is going to be forced to service this evening.

There are always two sides to a story, even the ones with only one character.

In Roxas' case it applies because Roxas has a condition. He has no control over his emotions and can hardly tell what he feels when he's feeling it. He is on a constant roller coaster with no brakes and no way to get off, trapped shrieking at the top of the tallest hill that drops at a bone-chilling hundred-degree angle.

"You decide," Roxas says, not really thinking. Who knows what the man would come up with? It would probably be something more disturbing than last time, which Roxas would rather not think about.

The man on the other side of the call chuckles darkly. "So it will be… _Roxy_," the man hums sensually, causing the boy to shudder in disruption.

Roxas presses the red button before anything else can happen—before anything else can tear him apart. His life is dirty… wrong… despicable. He hates it. He wants to get out. He knows there has to be at least one airline willing to take him away from this life and help him revert to his better self. And he knows the perfect red-haired pilot for the job.

* * *

Filler, Filler, Filler! I do a DOUBLE back to back for you bitches.  
Just because I did this for you, you should REVIEW. I leave .ROW. AND I BLEW OFF A FRIEND AT HER HOUSE (sort-of) TO UPDATE FOR YOU.  
She likes this story too though, so that makes it okay. NOW I'll see you guys in a few days.

No, seriously.

Scotty.


	9. Finding My Own Answers

**Finding My Own Answers**

Roxas pulls his hood up over his head, shoving his hands in the old gray sweatshirt's pockets, mindlessly walking down the sidewalk in the direction to Saturday's house. That _is_ what the text said after all.

_New Text Message Saturday_

_My house. Dress down. Be ready when I get there._

As much as Roxas would _love _to use a Get Out of Jail Free card on this one, he's all out of extra chances. Recently the man threatened that if the little blonde toy continued trying to get out of their deal, dire consequences would be put in action to make sure Roxas would never betray the 'rules' again. That's what the man called them- rules. What did he even mean by _rules_? Roxas has never heard or seen the full set so he wings it when it comes to 'following the rules'. What rules are there to follow?

"Roxas?" a voice catches him by surprise. He can hear it over his one blasting headphone, dangling from his right ear. It's playing some Gym Class Heroes now, to his pleasure. He turns around to see the owner of the voice.

An icy blue-haired man with golden eyes and an x-shaped scar on his face reaches Roxas. The short blond recognizes him from the support group thing. "Isa, right?" he asks, turning down the Whitesnake that came on.

"That'd be me," the far taller man says with a shrug and a smirk.

_He seems nice enough,_ Roxas tells himself with a closed smile. "What can I do for ya?" he asks out of habit, starting up his slow, steady pace again.

Isa folds his arms over his chest, making slightly Italian hand gestures as he talks, revealing the fact he is one of those people that would accidentally hit you in the face during a conversation. "I wanted to ask you if you know where Axel is."

Roxas hangs his head quickly, face turning bright red. _How does he know about that?_

"Kid, calm down; I already know you and Axel have some sort of _thing_ between you," Isa says suggestively, patting the embarrassed junior on the back. "Good for you! You scored on Ax. He's a fucking great guy. But that's not what I'm here for. I know he was at your place for a little while. He texted me when he left. I just don't know where he is now."

A blonde brow peaks. "You can't trust Axel alone for six hours?"

Isa shakes his head, rubbing his temples in tension. "You really don't remember how he is, do you?" he asks with a remorseful smile. It doesn't touch his eyes. Roxas frowns, noticing the distress on the man's face. "I know about the whole warped-memory thing. They tried to do it to me too, little dude," Isa admits.

Roxas' eyes go wide. He wants to know what happened desperately. He's so curious about this weird feeling of remembering some things but others feeling like he made them up entirely. He feels like everything is a lie right now and wants some solidity. Perhaps this guy can help him.

"Isa…" Roxas tries look as innocent and clueless as possible. Isa blinks. "What's the deal with this whole 'warped memories' thing? It's really fucking with my head and kind of making life shit."

Isa laughs heartily, settling an arm around Roxas' shoulder. "You're asking both the right and wrong person about that."

Thin brows furrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"I didn't lose my memories when they tried to take them from me. I managed to protect them. But you didn't. I don't know much about the rules of this… predicament, but I do have a few guesses," Isa explains gaily, bobbing his head to the music he hears travelling from Roxas' one headphone.

The way Isa says _rules_ catches Roxas' attention. He casually tries to pry into the topic. "What are these… _rules_?" he asks.

Isa smiles boyishly. "Don't get ahead of yourself. You don't even remember what happened to Axel, do you?"

"He asked my cousin to light him on fire," Roxas deadpans.

Isa's eyes go wide. He looks down at Roxas, who looks right back up. "No shit, huh? Cloud's your cousin?"

"That'd be the one."

"Shit, man. I-I'm sorry," Isa mutters guiltily.

Roxas blinks. "What're you talking about?

"I forgot that you and Cloud are related. Axel probably didn't remind me just so he could be a douchefag," Isa grumbles, glaring blankly at the street to their right. "Anyway, the rules are pretty simple. I've only come up with a few of them so far, but one of them is that any remnants from Axey's first life have to be tied together or else. I found that out when some creepy-ass motherfucker mentioned it to me in my dream where they tried to take my mems."

Roxas sniggers. "Axey?"

"What of it, bitch?" Isa sticks his tongue out in an immature gesticulation.

"Whatever, man." Roxas rolls his eyes. He is shaking his head as if to call Isa a hopeless dumbass. "What's the 'or else'?" _Come on I need something that fucking makes sense!_

"Don't fucking know, kid," Isa complains, scratching his head. "Probably something badass like drag my boy to hell or something. It's not like he doesn't deserve it—he is a fuck face."

Roxas laughs in disbelief, shocked that someone's best friend would say something like that. This is when Roxas first realizes there has to be more to Isa and Axel's friendship than either of them would be willing to let on with the way they are toward each other. There must be something unspoken between the two of them…

Then it hits him.

"You're in love with Axel, aren't you?" Roxas unintentionally blurts, quickly covering his mouth with his hand. Through the sweatshirt muzzling him, he says, "Oh shit I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that!"

Isa slowly removes his arm from around Roxas and shoves both hands in his pockets, beaten. He sighs, never leaving the smaller male's gaze. "It's that obvious, is it?"

Roxas shakes his head. "No! It was just a random thought, I swear."

Isa smirks. "So you were contemplating whether I have feelings for the guy you have a thing for?"

Roxas blushes. "Well…"

Isa grins and shakes his head, not chiding him at all or yelling at him or going crazy. He's just… solemn. It scares Roxas, quite frankly. Why is he so calm? Why is he not doing anything? Why is he not more pissed off? The frightening blue jays grin slips into a small, sorrowful smile. "I don't know you all that well, but you're a good kid from what I do know. And Axel obviously loves you." He mutters under his breath, "As if I can figure out why. The dude is such a narcissist I didn't think he had room for anyone else." He scratches the back of his neck. "I digress. The point is that he wants _you_, not me. I'm not going to do something stupid to piss off my best friend. He's _that_ before anything else in my world."

"Isa…" Roxas whispers, awe striking through his eyes. He wipes the watery fountains with the sleeve of his hoodie. He had no idea that someone like Isa could feel. He didn't expect Isa to be so… relaxed. He thought that the man would be angry, like the Saturday appointment Roxas is currently _supposed_ to be making his way to before he got sidetracked.

Isa surprises Roxas by hugging him. The height difference is nuts. It's not as large as Roxas to _Axel_ per say, but it is surely a noticeable five inches. Roxas finds himself hugging Isa back, not quite positive as to what is going on. But it doesn't matter right now. This is a moment that Roxas appreciates.

"I wish you the best of luck with Axel," Isa whispers, voice cracking like an eggshell. Roxas was right; Isa _does_ love the hothead.

The moment is ruined when a meaty finger taps Roxas on the small shoulder. Isa blinks, looking at the raven-haired man standing before him, behind the boy in his embrace. Roxas stiffens Isa notes.

"Pardon me," the velvet voice croons, slyly peeling Isa's hands off of Roxas' back.

Isa smacks the man's hands away, pushing Roxas behind him and acting as a shield for the love of his best friend. This is what Axel would want him to do. _This is what is right_, Isa tells himself, scowling at the man, mentally insulting the sideburns.

"And just who the hell do you think you are?" Isa snarls grabbing one of Roxas wrists to keep him from running. There's one thing Isa learned from being picked on as a teenager- never run from a fight no matter how fucking scared you are or how close you are to pissing yourself. Stand your ground. Don't back down.

The man purses his lips and raises his eyebrows exaggeratedly. He removes his hands from the pockets of his floor-length black trench coat. The drawstrings near the hood are silver, beaded, and dangle down his bulky chest. "My name, nave, is Dilan. And if you don't mind, that boy behind you is supposed to be with me right now."

Isa feels Roxas' pulse speed up. He takes careful attention to annotate the clammy hands, skin chilling over, and arm shiver. The blue-haired multi-personality man tilts his head, faking obliviousness. "I'm sorry, what was that name again?"

The large man, who in height matches Isa but in muscle seems to win by a landslide, narrows his eyes, wondering what game it is about to be played. "Dilan," he repeats.

Isa holds out his spare hand politely. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Dilan," he says nicely. Dilan reaches out to shake hands, still very unsure. He is very nervous, but you couldn't tell upon first glance. Just as he is about to grab Isa's hand at shake it, the berserker whips out a handgun and aims it at the larger man. "The name's Isa. Got it memorized? Good. Because I'm only going to say this once; stay the fuck away from the kid or I'll shoot your eyes out, cut your dick off, and feed it to you, faggot."

Roxas' eyes widen in shock. Dilan actually takes a few steps back, eyes flashing in silent fear. Roxas knows this man to be fearless, what with all the things he puts Roxas through at risk of getting caught by the cops. It's strange to see him cower away from such a simple thing as a gun. Before stalking off, Dilan casts another leer in Roxas' direction.

_Shit. I'm so in trouble later._

That look in Dilan's (Xaldin as Roxas knows him) eyes reiterates the point- Roxas is getting maximum punishment this time. Part of it is for being late. Another part is for making the boss find him himself. Oh, and did he happen to mention that another little _rule_ was broken in dragging Isa into this inadvertently? The first rule of his agreement with Xaldin is that you _never_ let anyone know the truth.

_Stupid rules…_

_Wait._

_Rules…_

Rule number one: don't let _anyone_ know the truth.

What could that possibly have to do with Axel though..?

X

"You stole my catchphrase, asshole?" I ask Isa, who is sitting beside me on the couch in my living room in front of the television. Family Guy is on. We're not really watching it, just listening and talking to each other. I'm texting Arlene, which Isa would kill me if he found out. Isa has his head thrown back in comfy-on-my-couch bliss.

"It fit the moment! I met the kid and I wanted to see if he'd notice it was _your_ line," Isa says. He has a sheepish grin on his face. "That's a cute kid you got yourself there."

I elbow him in the ribs. "Faggot," I mutter.

_New Text Message Arlene_

_Well yeah I didn't tell Isa 'cause I didn't want him getting pissy. _

I snicker. The guy's own half-sister keeps shit from him. I know Isa doesn't keep anything from me. He would never do that to me. "So you met Roxas downtown then what, anything interesting happen?"

_Lawlz it's funny to watch him get mad._

Speaking of the devil, he shakes his head, rubs his ribs with the palm of his hand like he's trying to soothe the pain I caused. Dude is the victim of my violence issues.

Actually, the real victims were Aerith and Sephiroth Strife, whom I recall killing when I was young. It's nice to have my memories back. I was so fucked up without them.

"Nothing interesting, sadly," Isa tells me, now rubbing his septum with the back of his hand. "He's a nice boy though. You're leaving me, man."

I raise an eyebrow, both at the text I receive and what Isa says next. What, did he and his sister _plan_ to both say strange things at the same time to try snagging my attention from the other?

"Can't believe you like little kids now."

_Why dontcha come pay me a private visit?_

I smack my face with my palm (facepalms are wonderful like that) and groan. "Really," I moan, patting my stomach. The poor baby feels gross in my body. I think I want to be sick. "You're not fucking cool Isa," I mutter while typing to his sister.

_Sure, just give me a time and place._

"How am I not cool?" my best friend asks, straightening out his neck so he looks like a normal person and not a Martian having an orgasm. "I'm the fucking coolest dude you know."

"Not anymore you're not."

Isa whines. He hits his head against the wall behind us repeatedly. "Come on, be cool man."

"I'm already cool. You're just a fucking idiot," I snort. I twist my neck around as I inspect my apartment without getting up. I wonder if we have a pack of cigarettes lying around. I haven't done those shit sticks in a while, but I could use one. I need to calm down.

"I'm not an idiot, toolbag," Isa insults me back with a wry grin that I catch.

At least he knows we're kidding. I'd be pissed if he thought I was seriously being a dick to him. I can't help it sometimes. I'm a sarcastic person, what can I say? I won't change myself for anyone, _especially _my best friend. I mean seriously, he is fully aware that I'm an asshole. He has the choice to stop being friends with me. If he's still here, I'll keep presuming he knows I'm just playing around.

I get a really weird response from Arlene and lock it just because I clear my messages so much and I don't want to lose the info for where she wants me to go.

_Dargain is a hotel on the outskirts of the nearest city. Meet me there tomorrow around four at room 1102 on the eleventh floor._

Of course she wants me to meet her on the eleventh fucking floor. I get elevator sick, dumb bitch.

_Works fer me,_ I lie in text message form.

A couple seconds later I have a reply.

_Awesome_

What a freaky bitch. I wonder if Isa knows what a sketch she is. But just because I'm not sure I won't bring it up to him. It could be something she doesn't confide in him. They don't seem very close as siblings, even if they are only related by an ass-munching dad.

"Dude," Isa yells from the kitchen.

I kick back and lie down on the couch, taken up the full length. "What, faggot?"

"You got any fluff?" he asks.

I cock a brow curiously. "Like that marshmallow stuff?"

"Yeah, I want a peanut butter and fluff sandwich and you don't have fluff," he complains.

I snicker. "You checked somewhere other than the huge cabinet, fat ass?" Dude likes his food, what can I say?

"I'm not fat! Where the hell do you keep the fluff?"

I shake my head and tune into the television, trying to drown out Isa with the sound of the old man Herbert's advances on that fat Chris kid. When Isa starts whining again I huff.

"It's wherever the hell you keep your dick, moron. Check in the hall closet," I tell him blandly. I'm not really getting irritated or mad at him. I find him amusing. This is part of why we're such good friends.

He shuffles out of the kitchen with this innocent, _dare I say cute_, look on his face. He's pouting and his eyes went really big like a horse's. "I do too have a dick," he mutters, scuffing his bare feet on my carpet all the way to the closet in the hall, across from the bathroom. "You should know. You suck it every night," he pretends to sneer.

I smirk to myself and shake my head. He's a ridiculous dude, but he's my best friend. What are you gonna do, right? I love the guy.

Not like he loves _me_ but you get the point. "Thanks for telling me what you dreamt about last night. I didn't need to know."

There's a crash, there's a thud, and then there's Isa yelling, "Found it!"

* * *

Hmm... It's not filler. In fact, this chapter is very important. The first half is, anyway. And the last half ties in with some things happening soon. It's nice to see you all again. Howdee-doo, kiddos! Sorry I claim that I'm not going to update and then update so quickly like the _magnificent_ gal I am, but I just can't help servicing all your Or Never needs. ;) As long as you still like the story, I'll still write it. I mean, I'd write it anyway but wouldn't bother posting it because that'd just be a waste. I loves you all. Drop this bitch a line. You know The drill.

Scotty


	10. Not Your Puppet, Scapegoat, Decoy

**Not Your Puppet, Not Your Scapegoat, and Not Your Decoy**

Xaldin hit the small dirty-blond boy across the face again, causing him to scream, that being the ninth time he has been hit that hard in the past thirty minutes. "I don't want your excuses, Roxas," he says, smooth voice betraying his evil eyes.

"They're not fucking excuses, Xaldin! They're the truth!" Roxas yells from his unconvincing position on the floor. He looks ready to leap back to his feet at any moment, but he knows his legs are far too weak for that right now. Xaldin took it upon himself to pop one knee out of its socket, dislocating it, causing excruciating pain to run through Roxas each time the disjointed piece rolls.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" he muses, raising one eyebrow and making sure he is looming over the boy, keeping him trapped in the large shadow.

"N-no…" Roxas mutters angrily. He manages a scowl. "I don't need permission to talk! You're _my_ client, not the other way around. I can kick you off my list," he reminds the man.

Xaldin chuckles darkly, it eventually turning into a booming laughter. "Ha! You're funny, Roxas. I believe that the tables have turned. You have no control over me. I _own_ you."

"No you don't!" Xaldin's 'puppet' shouts, crawling backwards on the floor, inching toward the door.

Xaldin raises a large booted foot and steps down on Roxas' stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Roxas chokes, coughs. He squints his eyes, covering his mouth with his fist whilst he coughs. "You disgusting little boy," Xaldin ruminates aloud. "You think anyone would want anything to do with you if they know what you've been doing?"

"So what? It's my life. No one else has the right to judge, especially you, you fucking cur!"

Xaldin shifts more weight onto the foot crushing Roxas' fragile ribs. The victim can feel the bones breaking. He bites his lip to hold back tears from the pain, like something is cracking under his skin. It feels as disgusting as when a tick crawls under your skin, only on a much larger scale and instead of resulting in Lyme disease it results in broken bones. "Cur… There's a name I haven't been called in a while."

"You're fucking revolting, Xaldin! You're not going to get away with any of this stupid shit you're doing!"

Xaldin contemplates something momentarily then smirks. "_On_ the contrary, sweet Roxas, I believe I already have gotten away with it. Because… as long as I know your secret, you're mine… allow me to remind you that my memory is _superb_," he hums with a sly smile and demonic eyes.

Roxas gulps. He really wishes he weren't here right now? Why did he have to meet Xaldin? He had the choice not to. He could have gotten away. He was _so fucking close_, too. Then he reminded himself of what would happen if he didn't listen to the hot-tempered criminal.

Cloud would get hurt. And now that Xaldin knew someone like Isa, a 'protector' of sorts, exists for Roxas, that protector is on the hit list as well. The only person Xaldin doesn't know about is Axel. Roxas shakes his head, mentally punching himself in the stomach for bringing up the topic of something else bad happening to Axel. He lost the guy once and doesn't intend on doing it again.

"I don't care if they find out my secret anymore. I don't care if Cloud knows I've been whoring myself away. Tell him! See if I fucking care! He's my family. He won't turn his back on me that easily," Roxas snarls. He makes sure to spit in Xaldin's face for effect. "Who the hell even put you up to this? You weren't like this in the beginning. Who paid you off to be a fucking douchebag?" The rambling blonde struggles as he tries to pop his knee back into the socket.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

_Oh my fucking geez this hurts._

_SHIT._

The pain subsides.

_That went nicely_.

Roxas, in a heated adrenaline rush, pushes himself to his feet, surprising the large man who once had power over him. This isn't over. Both of them know that. They stand there for a minute just glaring at each other, Roxas taking deep breaths, trying to regain his composure.

Xaldin hangs his head, rubbing his temples ferociously. "His name is Ienzo," the angered client admits quickly. Just the way he's talking says that everything is only going to be said once so Roxas better listen close so he doesn't miss anything. "He has a friend named Myde. They work together. They have some vendetta against a man by the name of Axel Nowaki. Do you know him?"

Roxas just blinked.

"I didn't drown your goldfish so stop looking at me like I just did," Xaldin requests, voice becoming far more mannered and tamed.

Roxas sighs melodramatically. "Come on, Axel said that exact same thing before! I don't have a fucking goldfish! And yeah," he pauses so he can nod and give a queerly disappointed look to Xaldin. "You didn't drown my goldfish. You've just been making yourself my repeat customer for the past six months, physically and emotionally abusing me because you have a temper. That's _so_ better than drowning my nonexistent goldfish," he rants sardonically.

Xaldin averts his eyes purposefully.

Roxas scowls. "You know you can get arrested for hiring a prostitute?" he points out. Xaldin seems to stiffen up. "Let's see, that's six months, about twenty-six Saturdays you've forced yourself upon me." Oh he was on one hell of a roll now. "I could bust your ass and get you arrested." _Given I'd be arrested for actually _being_ a prostitute, but it would be worth it._

_Or would it?_

_Don't drop the soap, Roxas,_ his mind warns him with a mischievous cackle. The boy shudders.

"There are a few ways we can do this," Roxas begins confidently, folding his arms over his chest, leaning against the door just in case he needs to book it. "We could put this all behind us and neither of us gets in trouble." He holds up one finger- his middle finger. "You could continue abusing me and I'll just turn you in for domestic violence." He holds up another finger, namely his pointer. "Or," he drawls, putting up his thumb and making a little finger gun, pointing it at Xaldin. "Or you can give me another chance as your…" What did the man call it again? Oh yeah, right. Roxas had forgotten. "Or you could give me one more chance as your _decoy_- as you put it –and we'll pretend that this didn't happen."

"Why should I give you another chance?" Xaldin roars, eyes blazing with rage.

Roxas, much to the befuddlement of the comparatively _giant_ man, doesn't flinch. He stands there, meeting angry eyes with a blank, dead gaze.

"You have no right to look at me like that. Say something, boy!" Xaldin threatens, ruffling through his pants pocket. His hands tighten around something that Roxas cannot see. What could it possibly be that wasn't there earlier? There has to be something different.

Oh shit.

_Fuck._

It has to be a gun. That's all that Roxas can come up with. After Isa somehow manifested a gun seemingly out of his ass, Xaldin must have been intimidated so he grabbed a gun so he could match it. Now he was invincible. He is back to being the same, invulnerable man that Roxas has no hope against. How he has managed to survive this long between Xaldin and Namine he has no idea, but it worked for a while. It really looks like that is over now.

"Two words," Roxas mutters. Xaldin gives him a strange look so Roxas screams it. "Two words!" he yells. "Fuck. Off!"

The sounds of quick rustling and hustled footsteps mesh together.

A door is slammed open then kicked shut.

A trigger is pulled.

X

"Excuse me," I pardon myself when I accidentally bump into a girl with my forearm while walking down a sidewalk in the direction of the mansion outside of town. There's someone there I know I need to see. I look down at the girl I nudged by mistake. My crimson eyebrows shoot up.

She has shoulder-length blonde hair and aqua blue eyes. She looks a little like Roxas in a twisted fem-slash way. She is wearing a white satin dress and white sandals with tiny, hardly noticeable diamond earrings.

"Whaddya know, just who I was looking for," I say, startled to say the least that my ex-girlfriend Namine is standing right beside me and isn't trying to beat me up (as if she could).

She raises a platinum eyebrow. "May I help you, sir?" she greets me mild manneredly. She's the daughter of a really rich CEO father and an aristocratic mother. What she ever saw in me when we dated all those months ago I have no idea. We are so different in just about every way.

"It's nice to see you again, miss." I kindly take her hand and kiss it. She blushes in that cute way she does sometimes. "Do you remember my name?"

She taps her lips with the tip of her finger a couple times, smiling coyly. "Now that you mention it, you are pretty familiar. May I ask from where?"

I grimace. What the hell am I supposed to say? I didn't even think I'd make it this far without getting bitch-slapped. She must really not remember me. I made her so mad when I broke up with her. Wait, didn't she break up with me? Who cares, that's in the past now. The point is she is supposed to hate me!

Whatever Aerith and Sephiroth did, they really fucking turned my life upside-down.

"Oh. Yes. My name is Axel. We're… ex bo—best friends," I say, catching myself before I can say we're ex-boyfriend and girlfriend. So I just say we used to be best friends since that's what we _were_ at one point. We just weren't there for very long.

She tilts her head, waves of blonde hair rippling over her shoulder as she does so. I try not to think about how pretty she is. I won't deny it if someone is good looking, it just feels awkward and wrong, y'know? All things considered, this is already a really awkward situation.

"You'd think I would remember someone with hair the color of fire," she muses, smile toying with her small lips.

I chuckle nervously. _Please don't say anything about fire. I've been so good in not wanting to light anything on fire since I came back._

_Whoops, spoke to soon._

"We all forget things, don't we?" I ask her, gently releasing her hand from my own. I start walking in the direction of her home subconsciously. She follows me like a lost puppy. There's something I forgot about her; she's real feely like Glad Clingwrap.

"Yes, but you seem… interesting. I have no idea how I'd have forgotten someone like you," she informs me, matching my pace. Who knows? If we walk fast enough maybe I'll get her in bed.

Kidding, kidding. Don't glare at me. It was a joke. J-O-K-E, got it memorized? The only person I want to be in bed with is Roxas.

Not kidding.

"Then I must be forgettable," I conclude. I shrug.

Yeah, I'm fishing for compliments. What of it?

"No, no!" she frantically repeats. I smirk. This is easier than when I got her the first time. "You're not. You can't be! I mean, those _eyes_," she dreamily trails off, turning bright pink. I raise an eyebrow. She turns away. "It's just your eyes. They say so much. I don't usually forget outspoken people, more so if they have something… _special_ in them."

"And since you forgot me I'm not special," I deadpan with a frown.

She huffs. "No! You _are_ special!"

"Prove it."

"I… I know who your name. I know your full name. And I know where you live," she tells me, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

"So you're my stalker?"

"No!"

"So I'm not special…"

"Just shut up and listen!" she squeals, gripping my arm tightly, startling the shit out of me. I didn't know she could squeeze that hard, even when we were together. In a sequence of movements that are nothing but a blur, I end up against the brick wall of a bookstore with her pinning my arms against the bricks with her on her toes so her mouth can reach mine.

And I'm like, what the fuck?

But for some reason I can't just push her off of me. She tastes just like she did the last time we kissed, before she dumped me (I dumped her). She probably uses the same cinnamon flavored toothpaste. Her hair smells really nice too, like coconut. Roxas' hair smells like coconut too.

Oh fuck, Roxas!

I force Namine off of me as delicately as possible, her mouth being the last part to be removed from my being because it was way easier that way.

"Your name is Axel Nowaki. You have a best friend named Isa and an uncle named Xigbar," she recites. That dull glaze over her eyes tells me something is up though. Her shoulders are slouching now. Her whole _everything_ looks like it just went limp.

"Nam?" I say softly, shaking her shoulder. No response.

I feel her forehead. She's really burning up! Just as I think that she collapses onto me. I have no choice but to catch her. I can't just let a girl fall onto the pavement and get weird looks. As I struggle to get her on my back- which I manage to do and hold her like it's just your average, everyday piggy-back ride –people are giving me the weird looks of ridicule I would assume would be meant for Namine if I hadn't grabbed her. Also, I don't want her getting raped. A pretty blonde girl in a short dress is just bad news for a pedophile's pants.

But considering he's the only pedophile here, Axel doesn't need to worry about that. He just needs to get Namine home and safe before anything else bad can happen.

* * *

Whatcha think, kids? I guess I like this chapter. I'm still a couple ahead. And somehow I'm managing to keep a fucking awesome update schedule for my vacation. Good thing my family understands that my writing pretty much comes first in life. Other than them. So I was playing this game with my cousin where he throws a ball at me and I swat it back at him and I hit him in the crotch a dozen times. It was hilarious. He was screaming and rolling on the floor and then I kicked his ass at Super Smash Bros. Brawl. He was Ike, I was Zelda. He had a level 9 Link on his team and I beat them both. It was 10 stock and I had 7 when I won. They both died. xD I played as Zelda. Who's a bitchin' princess? Yeah, that'd be me. Anyways, leave this girl some looove! Happy Friday, kiddies, and I hope you enjoy what's to come and I hope you liked the new chapter.

Scotty xx

(Shit, I've tried uploading this chapter four times. This is pissing me off. If it looks weird or the note is in the wrong spot, sorry! It's just pissing me off!)


	11. We Can All Die Out

**We Can All Die Out**

_To: Larxene _

_Hey Arlene I'm gonna be way late. Got caught up in some stuff want to switch days?_

I look down at Namine, tucked into her bed carefully with a cold washcloth placed meticulously on her forehead. Her face is flushed, normal pastel peach gone and a pasty pale pearl color replacing the porcelain skin tone. Her mother isn't worried about her one bit- even called it a 'phase' that her daughter suddenly fell ill. Her father on the other hand is worried. Maybe he isn't as worried as I am, but I'm presuming it's a close match.

You'd be astounded to find out that I do retain _some_ feelings for Namine. I'm not implying that they're romantic. Albeit, I do happen to hold a _few_ quixotic feelings for her; please don't tell Roxas. I think he would kill me. He and Namine don't even know each other as far as I'm aware of. I feel so little for her in _that way_ though that it has no influence. I'm all about Roxas. Roxas, Roxas, Roxas. There's only a _teeny_ bit for Namine. God, I don't even fucking know anymore. I want to get lost inside my thoughts so I have some time to sort all the shit I have going on out. So I die, come back to life, and _this_ is what I'm greeted with? This is more shit than I ever had to deal with before. How is this even fair? I'm not _that_ bad of a guy?

Let's see, what have I done?

I've killed Cloud Strife's family mom and dad.

I tried to kill my ex-therapist and his bitchy boyfriend.

I also have feelings for a girl, despite the fact that I'm already sort-of with a boy that I know I could spend forever with.

No biggie.

Yeah, I'm not a total asshole or anything…

My phone notifies me that I got a response from Arlene.

_New Text Message Arlene_

_No prob man. I understand. Tomorrow then?_

I respond instantly.

_Sounds good._

I sigh deliberately, shaking my head and raking my hands through the mane of red hair atop my head.

What have I done?

X

She warily peeps over her shoulder before knocking on the door to the inconspicuous suburban home. She creases her brow and waits impatiently for the gray storm door or even just the wooden house door so she can speak to the man and get this over with. She glowers at the porch, light blonde hair flying away in the afternoon breeze.

After three minutes (she counted) the door finally opens, revealing a blonde male about her height with a mullet-like Mohawk going on and bright blue eyes standing out against peach skin that looks like it hasn't been exposed to the sun in ages. He quirks an eyebrow in query.

"Your name wouldn't be Demyx by any chance, would it?" the woman asks, shivering a little in the passing gust of wind.

"Who wants to know?" he retorts, closing the door the slightest bit suspiciously.

"My name's Arlene. I'm here to see Zexion about something," she explains, glancing uncomfortably over her shoulder once more. "Do you mind if I come in? It's really fucking cold."

The boy, who she already knows for a fact is Demyx and solely asked for formality purposes, kicks open the screen door, holds it open for her. She steps in gratefully, careful not to let her shoes make any unnecessary noise. She would hate to have to hear some agitating squeak. It would only set her off and force her to whip out the heater in her little black handbag.

"He's in his study. Take a seat in the living room, would you?" Demyx tells her, heading off in the opposite direction that he points for Arlene to go.

Arlene saunters into the living room, acknowledging the various framed documents around the room. She assumes they are all the degrees that this doctor's son has from college. There are also photos around. There are some photos of the slate-haired study beside Demyx. Some images are of Zexion and another man- one that Arlene recognizes distantly. Those green eyes and that _fiery_ hair and the sharp jaw all strike her at once.

_That's Axel, isn't it? Why would _he_ be with Zexion?_

She furrows her eyebrows in confusion. "Arlene," the voice she recognizes as Zexion's interrupts the silence abruptly, causing her to twitch.

The mysterious woman turns around to face him with a fond smile. "Hey there, Zexy," she greets pleasantly.

"What do you want?"

She frowns. "Come on, I did what you asked me to."

"You saw him today?" Zexion asks, eyebrows peaking in interest.

She shakes her head. "That would be a no," she admits. Zexion glares. She shrugs. "What do you want me to do? He wanted to postpone until tomorrow. I couldn't just cancel the plan altogether."

Zexion huffs, nostrils flaring. "You said today."

"I know what I said. But what I said and what is possible at the present time are two totally different things."

"I don't care."

Arlene blinks, taking a couple discreet backwards steps in the direction of the door. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"We had a deal."

"I know, but-!"

"We had a deal," the man reiterates, anger hinted through his tone.

"I know we did, but things are constantly changing! I know he remembers everything now. Other people are starting to remember, too!" she exasperates, throwing her arms up in the air then slamming her hands down on her hips. "I can get you the information, Zexion. I just need a little more time!"

"We don't _have_ time!" he screams, swiping his hand across an end table, throwing a vase to the floor. It shatters into hundreds of pieces. Water spills onto the wood flooring. The soil sprawls out between the table and the couch beside it. The few flowers that were in are now face-down on the ground, crushed under an enraged Zexion's feet. "We don't have the time you need to find these things out. If we can figure this out, there's a possibility we can learn to resurrect the dead. Do you know what a discovery that would be?"

Arlene inhales sharply. Why does she suddenly feel so guilty about trying to get information from Axel? Is it because she knows how it feels to lose someone? Is it because she knows what it is like to take a life? It happens to be a little bit of both. They are a lot alike. They both have lost people and stolen others' lives in return. They both have no idea when to quit. They both are confused. Why is she throwing someone so similar to her under the gun? Why is she pushing him into the line of fire?

Her heart sinks into her stomach.

Zexion continues. "I have a colleague in Massachusetts named Vexen. He's going to be helping me with this experiment, per his request. Oh," he pauses, face turning back to indifference. "Before I forget, how is the man you hired to _take care_ of Roxas?"

Arlene averts her eyes, scowling at nothing in particular. "Xaldin is just fucking fine," she spits.

Roxas is to Axel as Marluxia is to Arlene.

So the same, yet the situations seem so different. It's like looking at James Cameron's _Avatar_ next to the original Pocahontas.

"Roxas continues to assume that Xaldin is just another customer, I presume," Zexion says, flipping his hand up.

Arlene nods curtly. "You presume correctly."

Zexion nods knowingly, eyes set on the mess he made of a simple interior direction. "Then we will continue things as planned. Your meeting with Axel tomorrow must remain scheduled. When you gather the data we need, give us a call."

"Alright," the pawn mutters, heading for the door.

"And Arlene," the scheming bastard- as Arlene would call him –calls after her. She stops with her hand on the doorknob, "Remember your purpose."

_Right_, she silently snorts, _my so-called bullshit purpose. I'm just a fucking tool, aren't I?_ She clutches the knob and whips the door open powerfully, smirking when it crashes into the wall, busting a hole in it. She leaves the household abhorrently.

"Fucking hell," she mutters.

X

_Cloud…_

Roxas has been worried about his cousin the past few days. Something is seriously wrong with him. Not only has he gone further into reclusion than ever before, but he also has yet to come home in what feels like ages. There have been no calls. There have been no texts. There has been no contact whatsoever. Where could Cloud be? He did not mention anything about going to Tifa's. Normally there would at bare-minimum be a note or something. After that party he went to last week, the guy had been a complete and total wreck.

Which reminds Roxas—he got a call from Namine's dad saying something about her being sick and that he should really come visit because it would make her feel better. Some friend of Nam's helped her out on the street when she fainted and brought her home. The guy has been there since he brought her home because he's really worried about her, the father informed Namine's (what was the word he used for it again?) oh right, Roxas is Namine's "Little Boy-Toy."

So he goes over to Namine's mansion on the outskirts of town, stands in front of the intricate double doors, and knocks with the strange handle coming out of a lion's mouth. The door opens to reveal a tidily-dressed butler with a towel over his suited arm.

"Good afternoon, Master Roxas," he greets stoically with a slight English accent. His cropped dishwater hair is tight against his head. He is wearing diamond studs in his ears. His hazel eyes are cold.

"Afternoon, Luxord. Mister Gunnar invited me to visit Nams. Is she well?" the boy asks, looking up at the much taller, much older houseman.

Luxord, who has been working with the Gunnars for years (far beyond Roxas knowing Namine), hangs his head and pushes open the door; he says, "I have not been informed of the current state of the young Miss. You may visit her though, of course."

"Thank you," Roxas says with a gracious nod as he enters the household. He mildly follows a staircase up to his friend's room. He opens the door.

Namine is lying in bed with a cloth over her eyes and forehead. Her room is very elegant, just as he remembers it looking last week. The carpeting is pearl white. Her bedpost and frame is spray-painted silver. The ceiling is high and is grazed by a golden canopy over the top of the queen-sized bed. The room itself is massive. It's very spacious with a television on the wall in front of the bed. There is a small-scale chandelier. There is also a rocking chair beside the bed.

And in it is a redhead gazing blearily at the little blonde girl.

Roxas raises an eyebrow, eyes widening when the fireball looks back up at him. Their eyes meet in a moment of silent communication.

X

When Roxas' eyes lock with mine, my heart starts pounds loudly enough that I can hear it; each time it hits, it cracks my ribs a little. My thoughts are all racing. What is he doing here? How does he know Namine? Why does my heart hurt like this?

"Roxas…" I whisper.

He averts his eyes, endearing blush frying his cheeks. "Axel, what are you doing here?" he asks me.

I point my eyes at Namine then back at him. "Namine was ill so I brought her home."

He off-topically asks, "Can I sit on you?"

He is just the cutest thing in the world. It's why I fell in love with him before, isn't it? And he _did_ say he remembered he loves me. I move my arms and pat my lap. He shyly shuffles over to me and takes a seat upon my legs. I wrap my arms around him from behind, holding him like a seatbelt. I lie my head against the back of his neck, snuggling against him. Oh the way he feels in my arms… The way his chest rises up and down with each soft, shaky breath.

"I've missed you," I whisper, simply saying my thoughts. "I don't see enough of you anymore."

"We never saw that much of each other, Axel," he points out. "Not before you died, not now."

I shudder when he mentions my death, cringing. My body tenses. I go rather rigid. "Why not," I wonder aloud. I hear him hum slightly in question. "Why did we never really see much of each other?"

"Because life sucks, why else?" he snorts, shifting a little. He turns so he is sitting sideways on my waist. His forehead touches the side of my head, his nose ghosting over my cheek. He wraps his arms around my neck.

Hey God, if you're still watching out for me like you used to, you fucking rock.

"This whole thing is just so screwed up," I mutter near-inaudibly, trying to not wake Namine. Roxas presses his head firmer against mine, tilts it down a little, then peers up at me with those sky blue eyes. "I don't even know what happened to Nam. One second we're talking, the next she sho—she just passes out," I tell him, cutting out the part about her kissing me. Roxas doesn't need to know that.

"I really wish that the shit would just stop," said blonde grumbles.

I sing quietly out of slight boredom, slight feeling that it would fit the moment. "Can we pretend airplanes are shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now."

He grins and lightly pushes his lips upon my cheek. I feel myself flush. "Moron," he whispers.

"Little whore," I whisper back playfully with a smile.

He shudders, lips pursing. I wonder why he suddenly stiffens.

Then he brings his hands to either side of my face and forces his mouth onto mine. An electric jolt goes through me. I wrap settle one hand on his hip and run my hand up and down his side lightly. He arches his back, his chest pressing against mine. Our lips are locked in a heated passion that burns brighter when his teeth graze my bottom lip. His asking me for entrance earns it and I open my mouth for him. He slips his tongue in my mouth and explores the cavern. He throws one of his legs over me and now I'm fully straddled in the rocking chair. It rocks back when he moves on top of me, so we end up at an awkward world-twisting angle.

When I hear Namine whimpering from her bed, I remember why we're both here and pull back a little. He tangles his fingers in my hair, hums with a satisfied smile.

"Have I said I love you lately?" he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. I tilt my head a little and fiddle with his shirt a little, slipping my hand under the thin fabric. "No, I don't believe I've seen you enough. I thought you said you wanted to _get to know me better_," I point out.

"Mm, don't care anymore," he mutters, our noses ghosting. "I know you just fine."

"What's my last name?" I smirk.

"…Fuck off."

I laugh and kiss his lips lightly. "It's okay, I love you anyways."

He buries his face in the crook of my neck. "Love you too."

Is it weird that even though I don't particularly _know_ Roxas all that well, I still love him? Is it weird that I love him through death (literally)? Because even when I was dead I know I still had massive quantities of emotions toward him. Ugh. What am I thinking, even considering having feelings for someone other than Roxas? He is obviously fucking amazing for me. We make such a good couple.

That's me: Axel Nowaki the love-drunk faggot.

I hear Namine whimpering again and look over at her. She's rolling around. The cloth even falls off her head. I poke Roxas' side. He winces and gets to his feet. "Wanna balance the washcloth back on her head?" I ask. He nods and goes over, placing the white fabric back on her head. I stand up, pulling my shirt down over my midriff. "So how do you know Namine?"

He shrugs. He looks everywhere but at me. "I work for the family," he claims. "Nams and I go a little ways back. I think she secretly doesn't like me all that much, though."

_Maybe because I broke up with her for you way-back-when…_

"Huh…" I buzz.

_Friends_, I think, inwardly sneering at the thought. _Don't lie to me, Roxas._

_If you're her little whore just fucking tell me instead of letting me find out for myself._

* * *

Don't you just love how fast I update? But for this I won't update for a couple more days because I have to write a couple more chapters. I've been ahead for a while, but now I'm not. Right now I'm at my dad's house watching Taxi episodes then we're going to the county fair and I'm seeing my grandparents! Woot! So what'd you think of Axel's thoughts? Is it weird he feels for Namine? And what about Roxas? What do you think he's feeling? Drop this bitch a line because you love me? :D And I love you, too. You're such good people. I adore you. You're so wonderful to me. So how's this sound: a couple days to the next update, but this story will be a couple chapters longer and even though it'll be a little more filler, but they all help the story along. If you don't notice, each of these fillers assists the storyline!

:D Love, Scotty.


	12. The Thought of Loving You

**The Thought of Loving You**

I bid Namine and Roxas a fond farewell about an hour later, giving Namine a careful kiss on the forehead. Before I can leave the room though, Roxas grabs my arm. He looks up at me with those huge blue eyes, making me feel guilty for some reason. It's like they're whispering _I'm sorry_. He tugs on me and pulls me into a chaste peck. I know I should already sort-of expect it, but it still shocks me slightly when he murmurs an apology.

"What for?" I ask him quietly.

He simply releases my arm and turns away. "You'll see."

X

Roxas watches the back of Axel's head longingly as the lanky man leaves the room. He knows he doesn't deserve the patience Axel has given him between the moodiness and the hardly seeing each other. How could they both be so sure they even share love? What is it convincing them of this when it makes so little sense? In Roxas' mind it makes none (yet in Axel's it makes crystal clear sensibility out of a blurred boundary).

Blue eyes drop their gaze to the ringing cell phone in their owner's front pocket. It sings, "_Took me down to the river so I could drown, drown, drown. Looking up through the water I kept sinking down, down, down."_

Why is Cloud calling? Roxas hasn't heard from him in days. Not wanting to push his chances of getting another check-in call, he picks up. "Cloud, what's going on? Why haven't you called? I've been fucking worried sick about you, you bastard!"

Cloud stays silent for a couple seconds. Then he shakily says, "Roxas, there's something I have to tell you but I'd rather tell you in person. Can we meet someplace?"

Roxas' heart speeds up. "Cloud, what's wrong? You can't just tell me now?" he frantically blabbers, yanking at random clumps of hair.

"Roxas," the older man calmly tells him, "It's too important. I'd rather talk face-to-face. Where are you?"

Sweat beads along Roxas' hairline. What the hell else could possibly be fucking wrong? "I'm at Nam's house. She's sick."

"Really," Cloud muses, voice laced with concern. "What's wrong with her?"

"I do _not _fucking know, man. But it seems Axel was with her when she passed out."

"Axel? He's friends with her?"

"Apparently so," Roxas grumbles.

He is trying not to think about how he would feel if Axel had feelings for Namine. It would absolutely destroy him. For one thing, it's because Roxas is Namine's _toy_. And for another, even though he is a toy- much like a Barbie doll –he still has feelings. He does love Axel—quite a bit, actually. It's the only explanation for how much power the redhead holds over him for the small amount they know of each other. Namine though—being sort-of a pimp considering the way she toys with Roxas—is someone he does not have romantic feelings for. In fact, he always has (if you haven't noticed) thought she hates him. They haven't been acquaintances that long, so what is it, exactly, that puts him off about her?

_The door is thrown open by a very pissed-looking Namine_, Roxas envisions. He can see it in his head so clearly. It has to be real. _Axel drags his hand down his face and glances at the blond boy beside him. He whispers, "I'm sorry, Roxas."_

_"Axel…" the boy latches himself around a stick-thin arm. "What're you talking about? What's going on?"_

_"That," he says, "is my girlfriend."_

_"…Of fucking course you have a girlfriend then fuck me," Roxas spits, blatantly disgusted with his elder's actions._

_"Rox, I'm sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I met her in New Jersey and we've been together for a while."_

_"Yet you just did me," Roxas deadpans._

_Axel wriggles his arm out of the tight clamp around it. "I never did _her_," he admits._

_"You expect me to believe you never did a girl that pretty?"_

_"Yep but that's only because I'm telling the truth."_

_"How am I supposed to believe that? That's like… That's just fucked up!" _

_"But it's true. The truth isn't always a pretty thing, Rox," Axel explains, pushing himself off the bed onto his feet. He pulls on his pants, making sure he looks reasonably presentable and his clothes aren't disheveled to the point of embarrassment. (Not that he would be embarrassed; he could brag about having sex with a kid like Roxas for the rest of his life and be perfectly content.)_

_"No shit."_

_"Come on, Roxas. Don't be like that."_

_"Don't be like what?" said blonde gripes, folding his arms. Giving up on the pissed-off look, he grabs his clothes off the floor and puts them back on._

_"Don't act so angry."_

_"It's not acting, asshole. I really am this mad at you."_

_Axel shakes his head, messing up his hair more than it already is, if that's even possible. "The look doesn't work for you. You're too cute for that."_

_Roxas flushes, secretly flattered in a way he has no intention of admitting to. "Shut up."_

_"Make me."_

_That is it. That is all the right-away Roxas needs to leap onto the bed, then jump from it onto Axel, pouncing on him like a hungry wildcat. He mashes his lips against the taller guy's, prying his prey's mouth open without waiting for permission. He tightens his arms around the pale neck, pulling him close, pressing their bodies so tightly together you could hold up a single sheet of paper. Axel lowers his hands onto thin but defined hips, pulling them against his own, inadvertently causing their crotches to touch. They just got resituated in clothing and both are already about to lose it._

_Then Axel remembers he should probably be appeasing Namine with apologies and a possible break-up right now. He pushes Roxas back a little, disappointing his jailbait by distancing their mouths. Their breaths are heavy; faces flushed, and are victims of erections that they don't have time to take care of._

_"I really have to go…" Axel mutters uncomfortably. "I'll see you soon, okay?"_

_Roxas feels ashamed, thinking that he and Axel could just jump right back into a relationship feet-first. He is nothing short of mortified because of the high expectations he holds. How could he be so stupid as to expect something so… sudden from the older man? Yes, Axel is a spontaneous person and such, but at the same time would he really just drop everything in the world he's built for Roxas?_

_The blond didn't know that yes, in fact, Axel would give up everything in his world for Roxas. There isn't precisely much to give up, but the principle still applies; Axel loves Roxas more than anything._

_"Yeah, whatever you say," Roxas grumbles, accepting the peck Axel places on his lips. The former boy blushes._

_The latter just smiles remorsefully and exits the room, leaving a very tired Roxas feeling played. _

X

Cerulean blue eyes open drowsily. That's right; he is supposed to go meet Cloud somewhere. They didn't decide on anywhere specific. Maybe it would just be best to check at home?

Yeah.

Home sounds nice.

X

Roxas takes a seat on the living room couch and looks up at his cousin. The room's lighting is dim and the atmosphere is silent. Nothing is moving. All is still. All is serene. It's an unpleasant calm, though- eerie and dead. Outside the sun is out. The day is bright and blue. Large white clouds speckle the sky. So why, when the older Strife relative looks down at his younger counterpart, does the mood feel dead?

"Roxas," Cloud murmurs, racing a hand nervously through his hair, "I… I have HIV."

Roxas' eyes go wide. In that instant, everything in life seems to stop. Everything is senseless. "…What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Please don't make me say it again," Cloud pleads with both his eyes and the shatter in his voice. He hangs his head in self-disgust.

"Cloud… H-how is that possible?"

"That party I went to…" he mutters morbidly. "I didn't cheat. Someone got up on me and took advantage of me. Multiple people actually," he adds under his breath. "I'm probably going to die within the next couple months."

"…You have to be joking, Cloud," Roxas exasperates, running his hand through his hair. His shining eyes flutter shut in a daze. It feels like a hammer cracks him in the head. "That's not even… It's not… That can't happen! You're Cloud!"

"That I am," the older blonde scratches his head. "But I'm still… I'm weak, Roxas. My immune system is dying and I'm going down with it."

"You don't have to die, Cloud. You can fight this! _We_ can fight it!"

"There's no cure for HIV, Roxas."

"But you don't have to _die_!"

"The smallest infection could take me down, kid." Cloud ruffles his relative's hair. There's so much to this that has him worried. A lot of this is killing him on the inside. He's going to die and there's nothing he can do about it. As long as he doesn't get too sick he shouldn't have a problem. He just has to keep Roxas on his toes, He wants him to know where it _could_ go even if it's doubtful it will go there.

Tears spill over Roxas' tear ducts, trickling down his cheeks. "You can't… You're Cloud…"

"I'm sorry, Rox. This is just the way it is."

"Man why the hell did you even do it? Why did you let them hurt you?"

"I didn't _let _anyone do anything to me. It just happened."

"What about Tifa? What the hell is she going to think when you tell her?"

Cloud averts his dying eyes. Their color has dulled to a dim gray. His heart is sinking lower toward his stomach. Sure it hurts. Sure he doesn't want to go like this. But what happened at that party will never be able to un-happen. It's there forever now.

"Tifa…"

"Yeah, your fiancé," Roxas snidely says, folding his arms. "Remember her?"

The victim of Roxas' scowl averts his eyes sheepishly. "How could I forget?" he mutters.

"Come on, Cloud, what is this! What happened to you! Why did you even go to that fucking party, dude? You don't even like parties."

"I like them just fine," he retorts unconvincingly, eyes never leaving the floor.

Roxas snorts. "You're fucking stupid, Cloud. I used to look up to you."

The heart of the dying man sinks. The disgust from his cousin and the disappointment from himself are overwhelming every pore in his body, shriveling his withering heart down to nothing but a single painful beat.

"You're fucking scum. You broke a bond of trust between you and an _awesome_ woman. How do you expect her to forgive that? She's done so much for you and that's how you repay her? Come on, you _know_ she hates when you party."

Cloud keeps his eyes on the floor, pretending it's the most interesting thing in the world. "I know…"

"So then tell me _why_," Roxas pleads, leaning forward on his elbows, settling them on his knees.

"Roxas, you know it's not my faul-"

"It could've been prevented," Roxas interrupts.

"It would've happened any-"

"No, it wouldn't have. You're just stupid."

Cloud doesn't ignore the anger flooding through the gates of his body. Roxas doesn't understand. He doesn't know what it's like to be abused. He doesn't know what it's like to lose it all. He's always had whatever he wanted. Sure, he worked for it at some job Cloud knew nothing about, but it still happened. It made him jealous. It made him hate Roxas a lot of the time for not being more thankful for what he has. Roxas never lost anything so important to him like family (as far as Cloud knows) and Roxas doesn't get the worst repercussions for his idiotic actions.

Cloud glares at Roxas, returning the nasty vision that Roxas has been giving him for the past hour or so. He cracks his knuckles contemplatively. He pulls his arm back and throws a punch right at the younger boy's face, hitting him square in the cheek, fist cracking into the boy's jaw as well.

Roxas' slack jaw drops. He grips it, trying to hold its place. "Fucking hell, Cloud, what the fucking shit was that for?"

"I'm not stupid," Cloud states, eyes infused with rage.

"I was calling a spade a spade. I was telling you like it is. I'm _so _sorry that you're dying, but you did it to yourself! There's no way you couldn't have."

Cloud raises a furrowed brow at this in question, ready to back up his anger with another punch.

"You're one of the toughest guys I know. How could anyone overpower you, drunk or not? Or are you just weaker than I thought? Are you not the cousin I've looked up to?" Tears spill over Roxas' eyes and he continues. "You handled your parents' death so well and I was so… _proud_ to have such a strong person with me, waiting to kick the ass of any bitch that thought they could hurt me. What am I supposed to think? Is that Cloud _gone_?" Roxas sobs, not forgetting the bruise forming and break occurring in his jaw. If he gets lucky it won't be broken.

It'd just be something lesser. Maybe the bone is just bruised.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Cloud considers this for a moment. His influence on Roxas has always been powerful. Is he really just a weakling, mooching off of others to make him feel strong because they're weaker? No. That couldn't be it. This couldn't be it.

_Roxas… I'm sorry._

He tosses an uppercut Roxas' way, hitting him in the stomach and aiming up toward the ribs. Roxas screams. He doubles over in pain, clutching at his abdomen, not sure which he should be more worried about: his stomach or his jaw? Either way he's in a fucking shit-ton of pain and it's fucking killing him.

_Cloud… _his mind whispers, _how could you?_

* * *

Gah. I've been so busy here that I have trouble writing and even _more_ trouble updating. Do you forgive this girl? Please do. There's still a couple more chapters of crap left. Then we get to the real, _real_ shit. This is real, but this is kind of sad. I liked portraying Cloud as too weak to do something because he's emotionally weak. Have you _seen_ Advent Children? That's all the backup I need. Bitches, keep reviewing. It makes me happy when I get on here and see that people still like this and are still just getting into it. That's pretty fuckin' impressive. You are all. Effing. Amazing.

Like I said, I'm having a hard time finding time to write and even a harder time posting. So I'm going to scrap the next chapter I started and get to some dramatic shit with Namine and Roxas. How does that sound? Yay for starting over! Also, there's going to be a new character introduced soon. Ooh. Excited? I'm pretty scared. It's going to be weird writing all these battle scenes and such. Before I add the new character who is definitely going to assist the plot and will add an intrusive subplot, I want you to guess! Who is it? He's from Final Fantasy and he's awesome. He doesn't appear in Kingdom Hearts and it's probably better that way. Oh, he's badass and gets along with Yuffie pretty well. Also, he didn't have a cellphone for a while... (Advent Children reference! Woop!)

Sorry for the long note; I just miss you guys bunches and I love how devoted you are to this story. I never thought it was possible. And it wouldn't be without you! So everyone, give themselves a pat on the back and hug the person next to you because **you. are. loved.**

Scotty.


	13. No Rope Can Hold Us Together

**No Rope Can Hold Us Together**

Roxas heaves for his breaths, shooting daggers into Xaldin's dead eyes. The hatred boiling in him is powerful. This man always seems to piss off Roxas; make him wish for death; make him wish for silence as the yells from the devilish medieval-weapons-expert make the apartment shudder. Portraits clamber to the floor after jumping off the wall. Why is Xaldin such… scum? Even now, after having his violent, sadomasochistic way with Roxas, he grabs his phone and answers a call ringing with _The Zoo_ by The Scorpions. Roxas is pretending to be asleep. His bruised, battered, shaking, cold body is curled up in a fleece blanket, his face buried in the fuzz.

"You want _me_ to call him? Why can't you contact him on your own?" Xaldin complains, damp towel wrapped limply around his large waist. Roxas' ears perk up. He pays close attention to the conversation. "Look, I'm sure he'd love to work with us, but… Bitch, don't yell at me. I can get in touch with him. Why can't you do it? …Stupid broad, I could do it myself. You know that. But the point is that I don't want to get more fucked than I already a—of course I'm actually getting fucked! Unlike _you_… Hey, you could go home at any point Arlene."

Roxas blinks, tries his best to stifle a gasp. _Arlene… That's so familiar… Didn't I go to a party at her boyfriend Marluxia's house a little while back? Yeah, I did! If I'm right, she's that Isa guy's sister!_

Roxas bites his lower lip, eyes wide. _And Isa is Axel's friend. So that means… _Instead of gasping, he inhales sharply then lets out a sigh. _Axel…_

"I'll get a hold of the valentine. I'll get the sharpshooter as well, if the boss thinks it'd change anything… Okay, then you go find him. I'll still get the other one… Will you just stop yelling at me, woman? You're on your period, aren't you? …Yeah, I know. You hate me. I don't really care."

Roxas snorts. _What a shocker that is._

"I'll contact them about the target… Yep, bye," Xaldin blandly ends his phone call. He snaps the phone shut and tosses it over onto the couch. He returns to the room with his _toy_ in it.

Roxas groans, pretending to have just woken up. He stretches his arms out, arches his back. He rolls over to look at the massive man with his sideburns and sharp jaw. "What was that about?" the boy incredulously asks, using an innocent tone to hide his suspicions.

Xaldin shrugs, drops his towel. Roxas averts his eyes, not wanting the already-imprinted image of the man's dick to become a reality. It's been places it should not be. It has been places that Roxas previously swore only belonged to Axel (though that was a long time ago). It shames the dirty blonde. It disgusts him to think of what he allows to happen. He is dirty. He is disgusting. What it would mean to be clean… What it would mean to wash off all the grimy film coating his body. Every last inch is contaminated. Every single centimeter is disturbed.

"It was a friend calling in a favor," Xaldin grumbles, pulling himself into bed. He yanks the covers over his body and curls up, ready to sleep. "I need to sleep. You can leave if you wish."

Roxas lets out a relieved breath he didn't even know he was holding. "Thank you." He leaps out of the bedstead and pulls on his clothing quickly. He digs his hand into his pocket and checks his phone. It hasn't been checked in a couple days. After the other day when Xaldin 'accidentally' almost shot him, it has been hard to do much of anything other than be trapped around the criminal man.

A voicemail, two missed calls, and four texts are waiting for him. Joy. Doesn't he feel popular?

No. Not _really_.

He stuffs his feet into worn shoes, checking his text messages first out of convenience. When he sees the first message, the others stop mattering. It's from Namine asking him to come over. Normally he wouldn't care, but two things are making him do it. One is that she's sick. The other is…

It's about the money, of course.

X

Arlene whips out her phone and dials a number expertly with her nimble fingers. Is it a three or a four? Is it a six or a nine? Or is it neither? Is it a seven? Sevens and fours get confused sometimes. She's not dyslexic. She can read and write just fine. Maybe other people just have a shit influence on her. Stupid is very contagious.

Her finger comes down on the green button, but another call interrupts it. She blinks and, what do you know, sniffs to hold back tears that are bound to spill over.

Ignore?

Ignore?

Ignore him again…?

No. Marluxia doesn't deserve that. He never did her wrong. The only wrongdoer in their relationship is Arlene and she knows it. Guilt hits her with metal baseball bats constantly. How did she even get into the shitty contract with Zexion? How did she turn into such dirt?

_Roxas is to Axel as Marluxia is to Arlene._

Arlene doesn't ignore her (boyfriend?) calling her. She picks up for the first time in a little over a week.

"…Marluxia…" she whispers. She sniffs again.

"Arlene… How are you?" he asks quietly, concern in his voice.

She snorts, not wanting to let on how upset she is. "I'm… I'm fine, I guess. What about you?"

"I'm alright."

An awkward silence steals a few too many moments. Then, Marluxia annihilates it. He kills it so many times it dies into a miserable death that no one would want. Why? Because, silly, he loves Arlene. He loves her so much it is bat-shit insane.

"Arlene, please come home. I hate not knowing how you are. I hate not knowing _where _you are. I constantly worry about you, baby. You think I _like_ waking up to an empty other half of _our_ bed? I don't. I fucking don't. You called me a bitch and left me. You tried to leave, but you haven't. If you really wanted to leave, you wouldn't pick up. And you always hit _ignore_ on a senseless number of rings."

_So he noticed…_

"Arlene, please… come home. I don't care if you're here for five minutes, I just want you here."

"Mar… You know I love you… I'm…"

"If you love me," he interrupts her with his shattered voice, "stop what you're doing for five measly minutes to come see me."

"Mar…" She hangs her head, resting it on the steering wheel. _What have I gotten myself into?_ "I'm sorry… I…"

"Arlene, I mean it. Five minutes is all I need. I have to see you."

Her heart leaps into her throat. She shudders. Butterflies land on all inches of her stomach. What should she do? Should she go see him? What if Isa finds out she left town when she mysteriously re-enters everyone's world? That would be mortifying. It could be worse, though.

_If Zexion finds out, I'm screwed._

She sighs in aggravation.

_Why does life suck so hard?_

"…Arlene?"

"Fine," she says in a lapse of better judgment. Sure, this could get her in a worse situation than she's already in, but it doesn't matter. If Marluxia stopped believing she loved him then there wouldn't be a point to any of the things she's doing. The only reason she keeps working for Zexion is because he threatened to hurt the one she cares about the most. Her relatives should probably be that to her, but other than Isa everyone cut her off from their lives years ago. "I'll stop by."

Arlene hears the victorious grin in Marluxia's voice when he says, "Thank you."

"Welcome."

"You don't sound too excited," he notes.

Arlene shakes her head, hair ruffling as it rubs against the steering wheel. Her antenna-like bangs mix in with the rest of her hair and fall in front of her face, giving her a somewhat normal look. "It's complicated," she breathes, hatred for her situation visible on her face.

"Oh… Okay. You don't have to explain if you don't want to…"

"Good because I'm not going to explain," she snidely tells him. She knows how mopey he probably looks right now, doesn't really care. It could be worse.

_He could be me: trying to fuck over my brother's friend, being separated from the one person who gives a shit about me, and living heist-to-heist._

"Look, Mar, I have to make a call…" she mumbles, not particularly wanting to hang up. But it's for the better. Everything is better without her around in her eyes. _Her _life would be better without her in it. "I'll talk to you some other time."

Before he has time to be persistent and keep her on the line, Arlene hangs up. As far as she is concerned, that phone can go straight to the pavement and get ran over, but she knows she has to call the sharpshooter. He owes her a favor, she owes him a job. It's a win-win, right?

Wrong.

So fucking wrong you have no idea.

Because what she is going to ask him to do is something that is against his morals. It goes against what he is to capture and kill for the wrong reason. He has the opportunity to work with Vincent again, but that won't make a shit of a difference. Everything he is about to do will be in loathing and hatred, both directed specifically at Zexion. For Zexion is someone Xigbar never got along with—not _then_, not _now_, and certainly not ever; the odds of him taking this job are slim. He knows working with Zexion means trouble from the last time.

Because this is starting to sound confusing, even in the thinker's thoughts, Arlene clarifies Zexion's position to herself silently, hitting her head against the wheel.

_Zexion is a power-hungry schemer. He uses the people around him to get where he wants to go. His current goal is to get Axel in his possession and find out how exactly he managed to come back from the dead. He is going to use me to get in with Axel again after their huge spat last year. Then he's planning on having Demyx confuse Axel and have him bluff his way into the guy's sanity then destroy it. _

Arlene snickers. _I don't even see the point of Xaldin. He's fucking useless. It's probably just to keep Roxas occupied and have him on his toes with all those threats to send out pornography of the kid._

She shudders. _Why would they even want porn of that? He's only seventeen. That's fucking nasty. I mean, he and Axel have that little _thing_ going on, but at least they have a real relationship. Isa told me all about the day he found out about it officially._

She frowns. _Poor brother; it must have sucked to meet the guy his best friend is in love with. I feel bad for him. _

Then she chuckles coldly to herself. _He'd kill me if I pitied him. _

The key to the sports car turns in the ignition by a nimble, pale hand. The phone is picked up and dialed once more.

_Is it a three or a four, a six or a nine?_

After two rings, someone that is presumably the man she's looking to get on her side picks up. "Arlene?" he questions. She hums in assertion. "What do you want?" he asks unhappily.

"I'm calling in a favor. You owe me one, remember?"

Xigbar groans. Arlene hears skin slapping skin and assumes it's just him smacking his forehead for allowing himself to owe one to a crazy bitch like her. "As if. It's _you_ who owes _me_."

"Let's not get caught up in details, sweetheart. I'm calling in a favor and you're going to follow through, capeesh?"

"It depends on what it is."

Arlene grimaces. _Someone's in a good mood today_. "I need help getting someone where I want them," she tells him, vaguely suggesting he would get to shoot someone if they didn't cooperate.

"That sounds fun," he comments. "Give me a where and a when to meet you. I'll be there ASAP."

"Goodie," she feigns excitement nastily. "Thanks. You could've made this a lot more difficult."

"Is it hard to believe I'm in a good mood today?"

"Yes."

"Oh…" he mutters, "Makes sense; I was fine before you called."

Arlene lets out an obnoxious fake laugh. "Oh, HA, you are just _so_ fucking hilarious! I can't stop laughing!" she loudly dramatizes.

Xigbar's grimace is apparent in his voice. "You're kind of a bitch."

"And you kind of owe me this so you're going to put up with it. We need to meet up within the next two days. Here's where we're going to go…"

* * *

Goddd I hate writing all this filler, but the thing is we need it! I hate writing so much filler, but this really truly needs it to get to the points we're going to go. The next chapter will have action and there will be at least one physical fight. Maybe the whole chapter will be fight scenes. Maybe I'll add some more supernatural conflict. I'm considering just making this Supernatural/Suspense because I've lost a lot of the love story. _It _is going to be in here! Soon, too, I hope. You just don't understand how conflicting this is for me. I feel like I'm disappointing you when I don't give you the romance side of the story. Right now it's a little more focused on other pairings, and that really fucking sucks and I feel horrible about it. So for this chapter's reviews I'm hoping to get, do me a favor, please? Answer a couple questions.

A. Are you alright with the filler?  
B. Does it add anything to the story?  
C. Are you getting sick of seeing no AkuRoku?  
D. Do you want to see AkuRoku already and want me to stop the plot in its track somehow?  
and finally, the epic question, E. ARE YOU READY FOR VINCENT FUCKING VALENTINE?

Yeah. That's all. I hate to do this, too, but I want to note that this finally has more reviews than Matchstick Houses! Huzzah! Great job. Let's see if we can crack 80 before the next chapter.

Scotty.


	14. Dawn of the Dirge

**Dawn of the Dirge**

Hip-length murky hair is carried in the wind, blowing behind a long crimson cloak. Pointed gold shoes are flat, clapping against the cement. Golden eyes pierce through a veil of bangs. He flips open his cellular device upon hearing it ring. "Hello?" his deep, sensual voice answers.

"Vincent," the voice of an old acquaintance greets him.

Vincent Valentine looks at the glances at the screen in shock. It's been quite a while since he's heard anything from the former fighter. "Cloud," he responds. "What is it? Is there an emergency?" The former Turk asks, inwardly fretting.

"Vincent, within the next couple of days someone is going to try contacting you about a job they want you to take. You can't take it without watching your back," Cloud warns. He sounds a bit stressed.

"Do you know anything about the task?"

"Something about a catch-and-kill I think."

Vincent grunts in understanding. He hasn't done anything along the lines of assassination in a while. He doesn't want to do it, but as long as there's a possibility of saving someone who might otherwise be killed he would consider it. "Cloud, I don't think I should get involved on either black or white. I'm… a shade of gray," the dark man says.

"You have a choice, Vincent," Cloud tells him. "Someone could be saved."

"I don't… think I can. I don't want to get involved in something I don't belong in, especially with lives at stake," Vincent says, tilting his head back to stare at the twilight-time sky. The sunset over a scummy lake is scenic—beautiful, even, if you see it from the same angle Vincent does. Beauty _is_ in the eye of the beholder. "I have no right to get into it with anyone."

"Vincent, someone close to me is going to get hurt. I can't save him because they know we're friends, but you can do it. You can stop them. It's what you do, Valentine," Cloud reminds the outlaw.

Vincent sighs and scowls at the ground as he realizes how right his comrade is. This _is_ what he used to do. This _was _his life. But that doesn't mean it's too late to change. Repenting for his sins would be difficult and he doesn't honestly want to try it; it'd be more like something forced to keep him around longer.

The man reiterates, "It's… not my place, Cloud."

"Vincent… It's what you do. So do it," Cloud orders. He hangs up.

Vincent shoves his phone in his pocket, discarding the recent investment. He knows it will probably ring soon and someone will, just like Cloud said, call him and ask for him to do a dirty deed. As Vincent Valentine, he feels automatically obliged to take someone up on the offer just because it's how he is. He's a dark guy; guys get him to do dark deeds. A dark deed done dandily is like his way of life.

It would hurt to take another life. It would hurt to let a friend of a friend die. The kinds of things Cloud Strife would do to get revenge would be frightening. So what will he choose? What is he supposed to do?

There are a couple ways he could go about this. One of them would be his normal method—choose his job based on what it is and take it from there. How would he take it, though? Who would he have to kill to save one life? Is that one life worth saving compared to the few that will be lost if this subplot is executed?

No.

_Sorry, Cloud. You're on your own for this one._

His phone rings again, this time with an unfamiliar tune. How could anyone other than those he gave his number to even have it? He answers, his voice sounding moody and loathing. "What?"

"Is this Vincent Valentine, former Turk?" a man attempting to sound sultry inquires.

"Who wants to know?" Vincent asks, perceptibly goaded.

"My name is Xaldin. I work closely with the Schemer and a woman named Arlene. Ever heard of her?" Xaldin asks.

Vincent frowns. He knows Arlene and her methods just fine. _She's pretty infamous. It'd be a disaster to have a run-in with that woman. _"Sure I have. What does she have to do with this?"

"She's contacting a man who we refer to as Sharpshooter. We have a request for you."

"What is it?" the recruit asks.

"Please, Mr. Valentine, let us all meet: you, the Sharpshooter, Arlene, and me. We can discuss everything at the home of the Schemer and his lover," Xaldin suggests.

Vincent hangs his head. "What's in this for me?" he asks.

"We can… negotiate," Xaldin assures him carefully. "Rest ensured, you will get a great deal from this arrangement."

_Cloud… this must have been what you were talking about. I'm sorry, Cloud. I wish I could solve my sins, but… _

_I'm not that kind of guy._

After a minute more of contemplation, Vincent exhales a breath he didn't know he had held. "I'll do it," he says simply.

A malevolent smirk tugs at Xaldin's mouth. He struggles not to laugh hysterically in triumph. He has two of the most notorious ex-killers on his side. Who wouldn't be ecstatic? Not Xaldin, that's for sure. He's just pleased Zexion's plan is falling into place.

"Thank you, Mr. Valentine. Please meet me at the following address in an hour. We will already be there."

Vincent nods. "I will see you there. Xaldin, was it?"

"Yes, it is. I'm flattered you remember."

"Don't be," Vincent scoffs. He slams his phone shut in irritation. He twirls Cerberus around one of his fingers and snaps it into a cocked position in his hand. If anyone gets between him and his goal, he'll kill them.

He'll kill them.

X

Thirty minutes before the set time Vincent is meant to meet the man known as Xaldin, he is already atop the building, sitting on the edge on the bricks, legs dangling over the city below. He stares out at the town, human ants moseying along in life while he sits perfectly still, not moving an inch. It's not like the rest of his life, though; he only used to be standing in place. Since he left the Turks he's been constantly moving forward.

A hand cups his shoulder. He sharply turns to see Cloud standing over him, eyes watery with disappointment. Cloud's hair dances in the wind, flawless spikes becoming tousled. He shakes his head. Vincent hangs his own. "I'm crestfallen by you, Vincent. I thought I could trust you. But I guess you keep your friends close… enemies closer."

_Friends close, enemies closer._

"You could say that," Vincent says.

"So you're going to do it. You're going to hurt my friends."

Vincent raises his eyes, gazes out at the other rooftops. "I guess I am."

"…You're wrong, Vincent. What you're doing…" Cloud clenches his fists. "It's wrong."

"You say that as if I'll change, Cloud. Don't get your hopes up," Vincent advises.

Cloud flips his cloak and cracks his knuckles. He turns his back to Vincent and folds his arms, perplexed. What could be thought? What is this supposed to be? Why would a somewhat-honorable man like Vincent turn his back on someone he considers a friend.

_Friend…_

As far as Valentine has ever been concerned, he doesn't _have_ friends. He doesn't _need _friends. Comrades are as fine as anything else, but _friends_? Ha. What a far-fetched concept.

"I'm…" Vincent pauses, unsure of his intentions. Is he meaning to apologize? No. Vincent Valentine never apologizes. He's a ruthless killer; heartless and cold just like the people he has the opportunity to work with. There's something in it for him. He shakes his head in defeat. "Pathetic," he decides. "I'm pathetic."

"You're not pathetic, Vincent. You can change. You can skip this meeting and make a difference."

"People don't change…" Vincent discards Cloud's suggestion easily.

"You changed," Cloud points out. "You left the Turks. It's not easy to do, but you did it."

Vincent's back straightens. He runs a hand through his hair and lets it billow like a patch of smoke in the wind. His eyes flash with something… between anger and remorse perhaps? He cannot even tell. Does it matter? Do feelings even matter? Do the desires he holds for his future—for any period in life—matter to anyone?

And all he wants is a place to call home and a family of friends to call his own.

"Then I've done my metamorphosis. I don't need to change any more," Vincent states, eyebrows furrowed.

Cloud stares up at the sky. In a poetic moment he tells his friend something he didn't expect to leave his mouth or even enter his head. "You're in a cocoon, Vincent caterpillar. Change one more time and you'll get to be a butterfly." He laughs coldly. "It's never too late to leave the nest." Vincent's eyes pop open then sink into closing. "Don't do this. You don't have to be evil."

"I know what happened to you," Vincent says suddenly. Cloud hums in query. "I know about the HIV. I regret hearing about it. I never thought _you_ of all people would end up with something like that. You're a good guy."

"Glad you think so…"

Vincent blinks when his phone's alarm starts playing, set for eight o clock pm—the time he is meant to meet these… _people_. He has to go, walking away to The Kill—a song that someone else sent to his phone. This song he has come to know and love.

_Come break me down. Bury me, bury me. I am finished with you. Look in my eyes. You're killing me, killing me. All I wanted was you._

"Go," Cloud commands, "make your dramatic exit."

Vincent nods curtly, leaps to his feet. "…Right." He turns and heads for the fire escape to take the stairs down to the ground floor. His cape drifts behind him. His shoes make clicking noises. Cerberus rustles in its sheath.

Cloud steps over to the ladder on the side of the building. He puts one foot under the other and scales the building downward. Something inside tells him that Roxas would enjoy this view of the city. It seems like something he would have done when his little brother was still alive.

_Good luck, Vincent. I hope you make the right decision. _

X

"So _you're_ Vincent Valentine," a recognizable voice says from behind a hooded black cloak. It has silver drawstrings. It matches the cloak of a more petite figure standing beside him. A man in black straight-leg jeans and a purple V-neck shirt with skunk hair tied in a low ponytail gives Vincent an awkward look. "I'm delighted to meet you," the familiar voice says.

"It's mutual," Vincent unconvincingly responds. He asks, "So what do you want from me?"

The man, Xaldin, chuckles. "Now Mr. Valentine, don't you want to be introduced to your new _friends_?" The way he says _friends_ revolts Vincent. He averts his eyes as Xaldin removes his hood. The Turk gives an unnerving nod, death twirling in the limpid amber pools that are his eyes. "My name is Xaldin." Large black sideburns frame the square face and large jaw. His eyes are temperamental.

The smaller figure beside him pulls off the hood revealing a soft-looking blonde woman with bright teal eyes and a thin face. Her hair is slicked back with gel, two loose strands standing up and out. "Arlene," she sneers, crossing her arms superiorly over her chest, causing a noticeable bit of cleavage to become visible. "I'm the second in command to the Schemer."

_So the Schemer is the guy running this business._

Arlene points her thumb over her shoulder at the casually clothed (and seemingly misplaced) man. "This is Xigbar the Sharpshooter. You two are going to be working together."

Xigbar snorts. "As if, Arlene. Don't act like I've already agreed to anything. I owe you, but I'm not blindly binding myself to anything involving you."

"Did I give you permission to speak, dumbass?" Arlene snidely muses. Xigbar tapers his eyes toward the floor. "Precisely, so stay quiet stupid."

Vincent raises a black brow. _That's a great way to talk to someone you're trying to hire. _

"Can we please get back on track? I'd like to explain to our personnel what we are asking of them," Xaldin says, catching Arlene's malicious attention. She snarls, pulls a chair out from the five-seated glossy mahogany table-chair set, and sits down. Xaldin and Xigbar do the same. Vincent, again unsure of his actions, pulls out a chair and sits down uncomfortably.

Silence washes over.

Then, the ticking of a clock…

The tapping of Xigbar's tennis shoes on the matted carpet…

The siren of an ambulance from outside the building…

Arlene breaks the silence with a growl. She slams her hands down on the table, planting them firmly. Xigbar almost jumps, startled by the abrupt action. Vincent rolls his gaze up to her face. They deadlock into a one-sided glaring contest with Vincent merely keeping one eyebrow cocked.

"Arlene!" Xaldin scolds.

"Let's cut to the chase," the she-witch recommends. She twirls one of her antenna-like strands of free hair. "There are some people we want captured. We want them killed when we finish with them in a traceless, conspicuous way that will keep us from being recognized."

Xigbar snorts. "Of course we can do that," he confidently claims, almost annoying Vincent with his way of answering for him.

Arlene grins, eyebrows punching her face into the _evil_ category. "There is no question about whether you _can_ or not. The question is if you will."

Xigbar rolls his eyes. He drums his fingers on the table. "I don't have much of a choice. Do you have more information on the job?"

Xaldin nods instead of letting Arlene intervene again. He hates seeing her when she's mad and Xigbar is her kryptonite; he infuriates her to no end. "I have copies of all the files you may require with us. They are in folders. We cannot give one of you the folder with the other in the room if the other refuses to take the job." Xaldin points his eyes at Vincent, attempting to make the man nervous. He only finds failure in challenging the stalwart nightwalker.

Arlene smirks, now looking more like a dominatrix than a devil with the way her face warps. "Are you going to take the job, Mr. Valentine? Or are we going to have to find someone with the balls to take a life on a whim?"

Vincent plugs his gaze into Arlene's, a slight twitch of angry emotion messing with his face. "It's not whimsical at all," he points out. "This is all predetermined. If you got caught you couldn't plead insanity. You couldn't say it wasn't premeditated—there's the equivalent of an entire case of information in one of those folders you claim to have on hand. You would be in more shit with the law than you ever knew you could be in," he informs them, directing his words more at the annoying Arlene that makes him want to dig his nails into the table and claw off the gloss coat.

"Which is exactly why we're trusting _you_ not to screw up, big guy." Arlene pats him on the shoulder like you would pat an accomplished puppy. "So are you going to do it or not, Valentine?"

_Change one more time and you'll get to be a butterfly, huh Strife? _He snickers. _Thanks for making this more difficult than it needs to be._

Vincent takes a deep breath and stares Arlene straight in the eye. He solemnly gives them his answer. ****

**

* * *

**

Sorry for the awfully late update. I feel horrible about it. :( Hopefully you can forgive me because the quality is decent and we got to see Vincent fucking Valentine! Wooo!

That doesn't make up for it, does it..?

:(

Scotty.


	15. My Best Friend's Sister

**My Best Friend's Sister**

"Axel!" Arlene calls cheerfully, waving her hand so I notice her. She fixed those two gay-ass ant things she used to have and parted her hair to one side today so it almost covers one of her eyes. She has on a pair of skinny pants; probably protecting her legs from the chilling effect of the evening breeze. Her shirt is tight and worn under a flannel. Her trademark handbag isn't on her, I notice. It's been replaced by an oversized grandma bag.

Feeling good in the 'bum' look, Arlene?

"Hey there," I meet her half-way up the sidewalk. She throws her arms around me and pulls me into a close hug. "Nice to see you too," I laugh, ruffling the hair on the top of her head.

She releases me and puts a hand on one of her curved hips. "There's some place I want you to see," she says. "You coming with?"

I shrug. _Eh. What's the worst that could happen?_

"Then let's fucking go, dude," she says, grabbing my wrist and dragging me in the direction of the subway station.

Shit. I hate public transport. I have a tendency to get eye-raped. When we sit down next to each other on a bench in the dark, dank, underground station my theory is proven by the different chicks that stare at me while they strut past us, purposely swinging their hips in a suggestive way. Too bad I'm mostly gay, otherwise I would've just thrown one of 'em against the wall and took them right fucking there. Then I notice one of the girls has light blonde hair and is wearing all white: white skinny jeans, white silky tank top, white double-grommet belt, and a pair of white Converse with blue laces the color of her eyes. How do I know the color of her eyes? Because, dumbass, that's Namine.

"Namine?" I question as she walks by me with two other girls in her miniature posse.

She turns immediately and looks at me. A cute smile that reminds me slightly of Roxas' plays on her lips. "Hi, Axel." She beams. "Fancy seeing you here. Small world."

"Fucking miniscule," I agree. "You must be feeling better. What are you doing here?"

The other two girls tap her on the shoulder like they're in a hurry. Namine gives them a signal to go on ahead of her. The girls seem disgruntled, but Namine persists on them leaving. She looks back at me. "Sorry about that. We're going downtown today to go dress shopping."

Dress shopping… That sounds kinky. Maybe I should offer to go with her. Oh wait, I'm supposed to be with Arlene today. Whoops. Let's pretend I'm not rude or anything.

"What are you dress shopping for?" Arlene asks. Namine raises her eyebrow, having never met my best friend's sister before. Arlene pretends (because I notice these things) that she feels awkward then holds out a hand, expecting Namine to shake it. "My name's Arlene. I'm one of Axel's friends."

Namine tries to keep her smile from faltering successfully. She shakes Arlene's hand. "I'm Namine. It's nice to meet you."

I glance down to notice veins popping out of the backs of both of their hands. I delicately reach over and pull them out of the deadlock. Now that that's over, I rise to my feet. Arlene follows. "We have to go," I lie. I'm scared if I spend too much time around her I'll start questioning my feelings for Roxas again and I don't want to do that.

Not gonna lie—I still like Namine. Not nearly as much as I love Roxas, but there's always that soft spot I hold in my heart for her. I _did_ try appeasing her when we broke up. I figure if I don't bring it up she'll never remember and it will all work out since she hardly remembers anything anyway. I'm actually starting to think dying was for the better because now I have a second chance at some of these things I screwed up on.

"Aw." Namine pouts, folds her arms over her chest. It gives me a nice view of her cleavage that I try to hide my gawking at the niceness of. "It was good seeing you. We should get together this week."

_Well I should stop forgetting about Roxas_. _So bitch that's gonna be a no._

"Sorry Nam. I've got a lot going on this week."

She frowns, bats her eyelashes, and sways slightly like a breeze is pushing her over. She does all those little things that are meant to guilt me over.

"Hey, don't give me that look," I tell her. She cuts it out immediately with a victorious smirk. I smile back at her. "Thanks. I'm sorry. I just got a lot of stuff to do. It was nice seeing you, though." She opens her arms like she's expecting a hug from me.

I sigh deeply and smile like, _oh that Namine._

"Fine, come here," I say. I pull her into a hug where her face is pressed against my chest and hair is touching what little bare skin of my neck is showing from my sweatshirt. She snuggles into me a little. She's warm, despite her small attire. Her hands are sneaking into my back pockets, fiddling with a loose string on my left ass cheek.

"You're comfy," she whispers intimately into my collar, breath sneaking into my shirt. It tickles my skin.

I smile into her hair. "So I've heard."

She stiffens a little. I'm confused so I ask her what's up. She shakes her head, but I persist until she breaks.

"You knew Roxas when you saw him at my house, didn't you?" she asks.

_Of fucking course I know the love of my life._

"Yes. Why?"

She shakes. Is it in tears, perhaps? I hold her at arm's length and look down at her adorable face. She reminds me of Roxas just _so_ much. It almost hurts to be around her more than I am around Roxas. Maybe I'll go home and watch some porn. Jack off to it and pretend its Roxas' hand. Oh fuck. Thinking of Roxas and his hand gripping my dick makes for awesome daydreams.

Mm I should definitely catch up with him in the next couple of days. Yummy little piece of ass candy he is.

"D-do you… like me?" Namine asks, looking away, wrapping her arms around her stomach, hinting at nervousness. Weird how even before I died I never saw this frightened side of her. I only know her as a dominant flirt. So this is real new to me.

"In what way?" I ask dumbly. She should smack me for that.

"Do you _like_ me?" she reiterates, emphasizing the like. Then I know what she means. Her face turns bright red from what I can see past her bangs.

I blush a little—only in an awkward way though. Arlene is right behind me. I don't know what Isa tells her, but if she finds out about this, she could tell him and he'll come to me and bitch about it. I decide to tell Namine that I do like her. It's just complicated. Her face lights up.

"You do?"

"Of course I do. But…" I hesitate. Should I tell her about Roxas? No. She must already know. "There's… someone…"

She nods in understanding. A regretful smile sits on her face. Her eyes droop. "It's Roxas isn't it?"

_Yep. She knows._

"What gave you that idea?"

She puts her hands on her hips and puts on the attitude of the Namine that dumped me a year ago. She smirks. Her eyes are devilish. "Come on, Axel. I'm not an _idiot_. I was dozing off, not sleeping. You think I didn't hear you guys talking? You think I didn't hear you exchange _I love you_-s?"

_Oh. Shit._

I scratch my head and glance over my shoulder. Arlene looks like she's about to laugh her ass into next week, but she's holding back for my dignity's sake. I give her a look that begs for her help. She nods and waves me off, closing her eyes then opening them again slowly. It's somewhere between seduction and assurance. I'd prefer the assurance at this point. This is no time for me to have a harem of girls all over me. Besides, I'm supposed to spend my day with Arlene anyway. Namine is kinda sorta ruining it.

I turn back to Namine. She still has the same expression on her face. She laughs and flips her hand. "I'll get you yet, my pretty."

Wow. This is exactly like how we got together in the first place: random meetings, flirting, and her toying with me until I want to hit something.

"Axel!" Arlene yells at me. I sharply pivot on my heel to look at her. My eyes are large and hopeful. She smiles faintly. "Let's go, faggot. Places to go, things to do, remember?" She moves her head to egg me on.

_Oh thank you Arlene. You are the best best-friend's sister a guy could have. No, you're a good friend to me, too. I can actually trust you._

X

Roxas' phone vibrates in his pocket. The volume is on, but he has a vibration set as a contact id specifically when one person tries calling him. He hasn't heard from this person in a while—he's been in the hospital. They must have given his cell back.

Roxas picks up, but says nothing. The companion on the other end says, "Roxas?"

Roxas nods, forgetting he's on the phone. Not in person. "Riku…" he whispers. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," Riku admits, sounding bored out of his mind. "I got let out yesterday. I'm stable now, if you want to hang sometime this week."

_It's been forever since I've seen Axel. God, I've seen fucking everyone but him. Why does this keep happening?_

"Riku…" Roxas hesitates to say yes out of fear for a repeat of last time. Not like he's not used to it, but it gets real old real quick.

_"Sora…" he whispers, clamping his eyes shut. "You're always so coy…" he says sensually, leaning down and licking the large laceration on "Sora's" shoulder. _

_"I'm not coy, Riku! You're drunk off your ass!" Roxas shouts, throwing his head back. It feels so dirty, so good._

Roxas shudders at the thought. It does have a tendency to get really fucking old.

"Roxas, I'm not going to hurt you if that's why you're stalling," Riku quietly says. He sounds ashamed of himself. He sounds… guilty. Which is very uncharacteristic for Riku, but Roxas appreciates the effort.

"It's not," Roxas lies.

"It is."

Riku hit it right on the blunt-ass head. Roxas sighs deeply. "I just don't like when you get all… You go all freaky and fucked sometimes and it's freaky, Riku. I'm not my brother."

"…I know you're not," Riku admits. He continues to admit things. "I love your dead brother with all my heart and I will never, _ever_ forget him. But at the same time I will always protect you so you don't end up the same way he did: dead. I love you, Roxas. I love you so much it's insane."

Roxas almost drops the phone. His hands clam up. Inwardly he pleads for a way out of this. _I'm going to pretend he didn't just confess love for me over the phone. Ah shit. This is… This is bad. This is real bad._

Right on cue, his phone beeps. Call waiting in action, right there. Roxas sighs in relief. "Riku… I have to go. I have another call. I'll… I'll try to see you this week," he lies. "We can talk about this then," he lies again.

"Roxas, where are you-"

"Sorry, Riku," Roxas apologizes emptily before switching lines. He doesn't say anything other than "one sec" at first. The other person just hums contently. Roxas looks up and mutters a _thank you_ to his god. "Okay I'm good. Hello?"

"Hey babe," the unforgettable voice of the person that just saved a blond victim from a horrendous conversation greets. "Long time no talk."

Roxas' face totally illuminates. "I was just thinking about you."

"Funny. I was thinking about you, too," the savior says with a chuckle. "I never stop thinking about you, though, so…"

"I could say the same to you," Roxas says, dreamily leaning against the wall. He sinks down to the floor, head leaned up for support. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you, too, Rox. I really need to see you. Want to meet sometime this week?" he asks.

Roxas beams. "Yes! Oh yes, do I ever!" he over-excitedly squeals. When he hears that beautiful laugh of his lover's—of Axel's—he finds himself smiling. "Sorry about that."

"No problem. What days this week work for you?" Axel asks. Little does Roxas know that Axel is exploding in elation right about now. (Arlene is on the phone on the other end of the otherwise empty subway car. She managed to scare everyone out of it so they could have privacy. So now she's on the phone and so is Axel. What a cool chick she is.)

"Uh…" Roxas goes through his calendar in his head. He has to see Riku sometime this week or he's fucked and lord knows that Saturday is going to take his ass at some point—figuratively _and_ literally. "Can I have more than one?"

Axel laughs at the eagerness of his young counterpart. "Yes. You can sleep over. Sound good?"

"So fucking," Roxas says with a sigh of relief.

_Someone's looking out for meeee!_

Suddenly, Axel starts muttering curses. Roxas raises an eyebrow and wonders if Axel can sense the request of an explanation. Axel says, "I have to go," quietly. "I love you. I'll pick you up at your place the day after tomorrow. That work for you?"

Roxas disappointedly hits his head against the wall behind him. _Damn. The second I start enjoying myself…_ "Yeah, it does. Love you too, Axel."

If only Roxas knew that the way he said Axel's name in a lightly sentimental, all-too appealing way made the redhead's libido go absolutely _haywire. _It made Axel hungry. It made him _crazy_. It made him like Edward fucking Cullen from those gay-vampire books.

And if only Axel knew that the very thought of him in Roxas' mind did the exact same thing.

A match made in heaven, for fucking sure.

* * *

Ha! FILLER! I love giving you stupid filler crap. I wonder if it secretly DOES iritate you. Oh, did you know this story finally had more chapters and reviews than Matchstick Houses as of chapter 13? I have to say, this is just fucking amazing. Thank you for all your support, even when you lie and tell me you don't mind filler. It's not technically filler, but it's the best thing I can call it. I like writing these. It's what flows, ya know? I have to write what flows or else I can't write at all. The next chapter is already written up, too. Excited? Hope so. Pleeease keep reading, even when this sucks. Take two seconds to review for a miserable writer?

Love, Scotttttyyy!

A response to a couple of the reviews I noticed in no particular order or no particular user addressed:

1. Xigbar doesn't know it's Axel yet. They are related, he just doesn't know he'll have to kill Axel yet. He will know though. Soon.

2. Vincent fucking Valentine is AMAZING! I can't wait to write him shooting shit.


	16. The Awakening of an Intrusive Enemy

**The Awakening of an Intrusive Enemy**

Arlene looks stunning tonight in her tight leather pants, The Devil Wears Prada shirt, and four-inch heels. She's wearing a ring that her… that Marluxia gave her quite a while back. Her hair is the same as it was yesterday when she hung out with Axel. Why didn't she implicate the phases in the Schemer's plan involving his capture? Because, dear stalker, if she had acted suspiciously the previous day and gone through with the plan, Axel would have easily countered. He handles shock well. Obviously if he is "handling reincarnation, he can handle a bunch of weird shit." It's a quotable observation that Xaldin made the day Zexion announced his diabolical subversion.

But back to the point of Arlene's striking appearance. She looks totally tapable. She looks like one of those girls you just want to turn around and pin to a wall so you can have a brief chance to shove your tongue down her throat before she kicks your ass. And everyone at the club notices it. Why is she going somewhere as public as a club? She got a threatening text message from a number she didn't recognize, telling her that she better show up tonight or they were going to hurt her brother.

Whoa. Newsflash: Arlene actually gives a shit!

She dressed up for the incident just because you never want to meet someone while looking like garbage. The way she's been hanging around Xaldin recently is making her feel filthy. Does anyone know how little he showers? Once a week is all. Once. A. Week. He wears that long black cloak a_ lot_. It's revolting. He gets sweaty and his sideburns glisten when exposed to any sunlight. And they thought Vincent Valentine was bad; he reeks of bereavement.

At least Vincent is clean though. He doesn't even smell physically bad, just metaphorically bad.

Arlene struts through the club coolly, not minding the extreme blast of "Tik Tok". Not the original, but the Midnight Beast parody. She enjoys both versions, but the Midnight Beast version to her is hysterical. She mouths along to the words as she makes her way to the bar.

_I'm mad, really bad, but don't tell my mom and dad. Pucker up, kiss my butt, cuz I'm bloody fucking nuts._

They got it right, agreeing with her views—it totally sells to be a slut. That's what she learned from that last party she didn't go to.

She laughs coldly, quiet enough where no one hears her. Not that they could hear her over the mad, bad boys of MB. _Yeah. Remember that time I ran away from Marluxia's house? Oh, good fucking times._ _I heard from Vincent that someone he knows got an STD after going to that party. _She shakes her head.

_Poor guy. I wonder who he fucked. At least one of those had to be willing._

Out of nowhere, a hand settles on Arlene's shoulder. She whips around, reaching for the small gun in her purse. Contrary to popular belief, she didn't get rid of her small one; she just hid it in her grandma bag so she could carry it more easily.

Someone has to have a brain, right?

"What the fuck!" she screams, glowering at the man looking back down at her. He looks familiar for some reason. Why? Why does this stupid fuck of a blond ditz look familiar? He has these sapphire eyes and an unpredictable smile.

Oh shit.

That shirt—the white t-shirt-gives it away. He has a tattoo that matches someone else's. It's what is referred to by the people working on _Operation Axel _as the 'Insignia of the Heartless.' Arlene was only pulled into this stupid plot a couple weeks ago, which is a couple weeks after this all started. She can't get the tattoo until she captures Axel.

She, of course, knows it's an easy catch. She'll have him hook, line, n' sinker.

"Hello, Arlene," the man greets cheerfully, removing his hand from her shoulder. "It's nice to see you here!"

"Yep. It's something alright," she grumbles. She slams a hand on the counter to get the attention of the bartender. He walks over, trying not to ogle her too much. "You got any Smirnoff? I could use a blueberry-lemonade," she orders.

"Yes ma'am," the not-so-hot bartender says, beginning a search for a light drink.

"So why are you here, Demyx? Is Zexion around?" Arlene asks, leaning suggestively against the bar with her weight shifted almost exclusively onto one foot. Her hips are prominent. Her legs are accentuated by the position.

Her boss' husband's grin cracks. He frowns and rubs his right arm sheepishly. He says, "I had to get him out of the house somehow. Ever since our wedding he's been so obsessed with this theory of rebirth that he's starting to close himself off completely."

Arlene feels the slightest bit of pity for him. It dies when she remembers the situation with her loved one.

_At least Demyx still has someone. He should be thankful for that much. _

"Bummer, man," she sighs with a shrug. The bartender hands her a bottle filled with an off-yellow liquid. She pops off the cap with her teeth and spits it in the general direction of the dance floor. She has this inexplicable impulse to mosh, but doesn't feel like getting kicked out yet. She'll wait until the stilettos bother her, kick 'em off, and _then_ join the party. "Where is your boy toy anyway?"

Demyx tosses his hand dismissively in the direction of the door. "Just _waiting_ for me to want to leave," he mutters under his breath. A scowl works its way onto his soft features. It's weird to see him mad, since around the Schemer's house he's always baking and cleaning and being a little French maid. "He could learn a thing or two from that guy."

Arlene raises an eyebrow. "What guy?"

"Axel," Demyx admits shockingly. Arlene's jaw drops.

The background music leaps into Rockstar by Brokencyde, i.e. the shittiest band ever as dubbed by almost every magazine around.

Demyx explains his thinking to Arlene. "At least Axel knows how to have fun. He has friends and he keeps company and he has someone that visibly returns his affections. Multiple people, really. I know it sounds weird, but I'm jealous of Axel myself." Demyx shivers in repulsion. "He has what I want. It's why I started working with Zexion in the first place. See, I know some things about Axel that Zexion doesn't." Demyx winks mischievously. "I intend on keeping it that way. Don't spread the word, okay?"

Arlene's awestricken face reverts to a somewhat normal-looking expression. She nods.

_What could this guy know that I don't? And more importantly, why is he hiding it? Is he going to try to defend Axel?_

What Arlene doesn't know is that this plan is going to pull in people like a vortex, not just a simple former arson that was mysteriously brought back from the dead. No. This would become so much more. It had the potential to pull in everyone—Roxas, Isa, Marluxia, and even someone as insignificant as Riku. What is it that they all have in common?

Their lives really fucking suck.

X

_He's staring at me—Sephiroth, with his maniacal, disgusting, wicked eyes. Aerith stands close behind him, face turned away. Even in her profile I see her blue eyes on the verge of tears. _

_What could it be?_

_I wonder._

_"What do you want?" I snarl at Sephiroth, holding my hand out, ready to summon that really badass chakram set from my last dream about these two. Dream weapons, I could call them. Since that is, of course, what they are. They're weapons in my dreams. _

_Yippee for logic._

_"What do you think _you're_ doing here, boy?" Sephiroth icily asks, stalwart as the earth. He folds his arms over his large chest and glares. _

_"This is _my_ dream. The better question is: what the fuck do you think you're doing in my head?" I probe, mimicking his arm-folding. I scowl. My temper flares._

_Sephiroth smiles maliciously. I think I notice a tear go down Aerith's cheek. She wipes it away too quickly for me to be quite sure. "Using you," Sephiroth states. "You make it so easy."_

_The two fiery chakrams appear in my hands with a flash of light. They ignite. "What do you need me for?"_

_Sephiroth chuckles darkly. _

_It's the scariest fucking thing I've ever heard in my life. I don't show it, but I am so scared of him right now it's ridiculous. I know I killed him. I know he's here because of me. But that doesn't make him any less freaky. _

_"I can use you to get back to the living world. And that's exactly what I'm going to do," he declares. A fucking _huge_ sword appears in his hand. "I'll kill you right here and take your place."_

_Aerith grabs his arm. "Sephiroth, don't. This isn't what Cloud would've wanted," she whimpers, shaking her head. Her bangs brush over her shoulders. "You can't go around killing people."_

_"He did," Sephiroth points out, aiming his frightening-ass sword at me. "He's just fine."_

_"He's obviously _not fine_, Seph. You're torturing him in his dreams," Aerith argues, snatching the sword from his hand. She whacks him with it. He backhands her, pushing her to the ground. She rolls until she stops, face down on the ground._

_"Aerith!" I call out to her._

_Sephiroth steals his sword back and smirks. "This isn't good-bye, Axel," he says ominously. "This is just the beginning." _

_He runs at me full force, sharp end of his blade targeting my chest. I stumble back, panicking as he runs me through. I fall into the light, slipping into consciousness._

X

"Holy fucking shit!" I scream upon waking up in my own bed, in my own body, in my own shithole apartment. I take heaving breaths, trying to gain the strength to steady myself. I notice I pissed myself again which is just fan-fucking-tastic. I peel the boxers off my body and toss them aside.

Fucking hell, my chest hurts. It feels like someone just stabbed me to death but I lived, disappointingly enough. God that dream was weird. I hate dreaming about those two - Aerith and Sephiroth. They make me worry a lot. And Sephiroth said something about taking my place? What if he's trying to come back to life through me?

My life is a cheesy afterlife movie. No lie.

I shuffle into the bathroom and turn on the shower. It takes a couple minutes to heat up. I turn on the sink and rinse the sweat from my face, then look at myself in the mirror and groan. I look like shit. My face is pale. My hair is more all-over-the-place than usual. The look doesn't really work for me. There are bags under my eyes and dark rings to match. I run a hand down my face, chest, slowly reaching my crotch.

Of course I have a dream about getting stabbed and wake up with an erection. That's just great.

I get in the shower and test the water. It's scalding hot. There's steam erupting from each drop that strikes the floor of the tub. The same steam comes off of my skin when the water hits it. It feels like I'm melting. It burns. It hurts, but I refuse to turn it down. It feels so familiar. So familiar I could die.

Wait… That's why this feels familiar.

_My body was immediately engulfed in flames. Normally people would run around screaming or try to put themselves out, but I stood there, fists clenched, head tilted back, fire roaring around me; smoke billowing from my burning body. Level after level of skin seared off my body. I allowed myself to be scorched. My hair was gone, scalp being charred now. I was dying and I knew it._

_My last thoughts were peaceful—romantic, in a way… if that way was sick and twisted._

_Thank you, Cloud. I wish there was some way I could repay you for all I have done or asked of you. I wish… I could go back and beg you not to light me on fire. It kind of hurts, but not really. Please remind Roxas I'll always be watching out for him in my second life when I couldn't during my first. Also, make sure he gets the letter I wrote him. It's on his bed at your flat._

_My body crumpled in on itself. My soul left my body and disintegrated into space._

_Well, I thought with a chuckle. That's the end of that._

Yes. This shower strangely reminds me of how it felt to die.

Ironic how I loved fire so much and in the end it's what killed me. I asked for it, though. No, really, I did. I asked Cloud Strife to set me on fire so I could make amends for what I did to him. I remember that so clearly. I still don't know how I came back to life, but I have the strangest feeling that Aerith would know. Maybe Sephiroth knows since he seemed so convinced that if he killed me, he'd come back. Too bad he's _dead_. He can't kill me.

X

"On the contrary Axel," a living, breathing Sephiroth Strife says sinisterly to himself, "I'm back. And you're not coming back this time." Sephiroth looks over his shoulder commandingly at Aerith, eyes daring her to bring the man back to life like she did last time. She was lucky, in his eyes, that he didn't turn on her and kill her for being a traitor.

Her outfit has changed. She's in a blue ruffled skirt and a pale pink camisole with a blue knitted shawl over it. She holds one of her arms with a dainty hand and rubs it. Her hair still looks the same, but now her pink bow is missing. Where could it have gone?

"It's not going to happen again," Aerith agrees. _Because this time he's not going to die,_ she tells herself inwardly. She knows she's going to need all the hope in her heart to make that come true. If Sephiroth sees to it, Axel is definitely going to die.

Sephiroth has a one track mind; once he knows he wants something, he'll do anything to get it. And he wants Axel dead more than anything.

* * *

Yes, the unthinkable has happened. I bit and finally got a Beta. My stubornness has lost a battle against my better judgment. Do her a favor and wish her luck for dealing with my crap writing for the duration of this story and any other she wants to beta for. I think I should have one separate for each story... Eh. It was a thought. My SVS could really use one, I think... Eh. IT WAS A THOOOUGHT!  
Thanks, Brixxia; you retained my writing to the way I would like to keep it and I did notice what you fixed! The tiniest things made a difference. ;D

Lookie, lookie! Sephiroth has mystically been brought back to life. Poor Axel's life is going to shit. Now for a very important question. Allow me to explain a bit first, though.

A few more characters (two or three) are going to die-and-stay-dead by the end of this story. I want to know who you:

A. Think it should be  
& B. Think it _will _be.

B is rather obvious, so come on, kids! I want to know who you hate the most that _isn't_ Namine. I'm not going to kill her. I don't hate her, okay? She's actually one of my favorite characters and I like Namixas and AkuNam. I also like AkuRoku. SO FRIGGEN WHAT? I LIKE 'EM ALL! I ain't gonna kill the girl and she really has a big role coming up, too. So start liking her at least a _little_? She's not going to end up with Axel, I can tell ya that much. This is AkuRoku for a reason. They shall end up together. I swear it.

Anyway, long note is over. Review. It takes five fuckin' seconds.

Scotty


	17. Interlude

**Interlude**

Arlene _knows_ she's being followed. It's a little bit more than the feeling that someone is right behind her—it's the feeling of breath down the back of her shirt; it's the feeling of boot-clad toes nipping her heels every step she takes, slowly chafing her skin to reveal red splotches that look like rashes on the back of each of her feet. But every time she turns around no one… _nothing_ is there. There is nothing behind her but a flickering streetlight spotlighting the sidewalk on which she just walked and a constipated rat scurrying back into the sewer through the drain locked around a nearby building. Crinkled papers dance across the street, lights piercing through the translucent sheets. The sound of them scraping against the ground creates the illusion of scuffed sandals.

But every time she turns around, no one is there.

Returning to her normal step, she shudders as an icy breeze whips by, failing to disconnect the gelled hair from the back of her neck. Its slick shine is like stars in the moonlight.

Suddenly, a hand places itself over her eyes. She squeals, but tears it away almost immediately. She whips around, expecting there to be some pedophile there, waiting to molest her. But it's just Axel.

"Axel? What are you doing here?" she asks shakily, still startled. When she regains composure she reverts to looking fearless.

Axel shrugs. "I was on a walk and I saw you so I wanted to see if I could scare you."

Arlene sighs and rubs her forehead. _This guy is something else. It's too bad I'm going to have to go through with the plan eventually. _Zexion's orders ring in her ear. His threats gnaw at the base of her neck, choking her. She slowly removes her hand from her head and smiles maliciously. _Better sooner rather than later,_ she decides.

"Hey Axel," she says with a malicious grin, "Let's go to your place. I don't think I could make it home this late."

She doesn't bring up that she ran away. She doesn't bring up that she's avoiding Marluxia. She _certainly _doesn't bring up that the text she's typing under her arm is to Xaldin, telling him to send Xigbar to Axel's place right away in preparation to implicate the first phase of their plot.

She also doesn't bring up that the only reason she's doing this is so that once it's over she can go home and be with her boyfriend again, hopefully able to pretend that none of this ever happened. Ha. As if he actually knows where she went; she promised to visit him but never did. She couldn't bring herself to do it. There is too much to be done. Too much is on the line. If she went soft now, she would never be able to follow through with her assurances to Zexion. And if Zexion were to get his hands on her weakness, she would surely be trapped, locked away in his metal toolbox.

Axel glances down at his phone, checking the time most likely. "Sure."

Arlene's evil grin turns into one of sadness, her eyes teeming with tears of pity- of guilt. Knowing what she is about to do breaks her heart. Knowing that she is about to ruin someone hurts her. She recalls.

_Axel is to Roxas as I am to Marluxia_.

_Something tells me Isa would kill me if he knew I was doing this to is best friend._

"Axel..?" she whispers, trying not to look in his direction as they walk down the street side-by-side, arms brushing against each other. He hums in acknowledgement. She suffocates the tears bashing at the dams of her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asks causelessly, his voice almost teasing her, shoving her flaws in her face as she continues to regret ever getting involved with Zexion and Xaldin.

"For today, tomorrow, and every day you have coming after," she apologizes, sniffling.

"Arlene… Are you crying?" Axel asks. He sounds so concerned. It causes her to cry more. How could she do this? She'll never forgive herself after this. She doesn't deserve forgiveness.

She wishes she could go back. She misses her friends. She misses her family.

She misses Marluxia…

Fuck her life. Fuck it up the ass with a spikey wooden dildo every night for a week and let it scream all it wants because it didn't earn the right to continue.

"Arlene, what's wrong? Come on, you can tell me," Axel tries to hush her by enfolding her in a comforting hug. Her guilt racks against his body with each wrenching sob.

Her cries echo down the otherwise empty street. She is silently thankful that no one else is around. It's only her and Axel—her and her friend.

Her friend…

_Friend…_

No. If he was really her friend she would've refused to harm Axel. She would've refused to be involved with the plan. At the same time though, she didn't know he was the victim until it was too late for her to back out. Zexion has some confidentiality rules that he expects everyone – himself, Demyx, Xaldin, Arlene, and now Xigbar and Vincent Valentine – to follow or suffer horrifying consequences that range from getting beaten to being experimented on to… being executed…

Arlene shudders, but it's stifled by her already heaving body. The wrongness of this whole situation is just disgusting. It's so disgusting that even _she_ can see it. The worst of the wrongs will come when Axel goes home. Because when he goes home, someone will be waiting there to capture – and eventually kill – him.

No one would ever forgive her.

Not Axel. Not Marluxia. Not Isa.

Not anyone.

* * *

I know, I know; it's extremely short and pointless. Would you believe it? I finally lost inspiration for this story with like, twelve chapters to go. But now I think I'll shorten it. So I'm going to have to ask a small favor of you guys and I know you don't like when an author says to give them a certain amount of reviews, but I have a reason for it. First off, _Brixxia_, I'd like to apologize for not emailing this to you first. Having a beta is still a foreign concept to me and I'm trying to get used to the idea of it. :( You understand, right? I've never had an editor or thought I needed one. So maybe within the next couple chapters I'll send you one or two of them. I'm just struggling with this whole editing thing. For me, first draft is final draft. Do not edit. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars.

This story hasn't been viewed as many times as Matchsticks, but it has just as many favorites and alerts. So if you could do me a favor and just click the review button, I'm having a little... wager of sorts I suppose you could call it? I've decided to change the ending. To what, I don't know. And this may make me look like a douche, but I'd like to ask (beg) for 7 reviews for the next chapter. If it hits a hundred by the time I start/finish the next chapter, or even while I'm in the middle of it, two things will happen:

1. I will be very happy and in that moment of joy I shall write a looong chapter involving Axel, Xigbar, Vincent Valentine, and a burlap sack.  
2. I might not kill Cloud off :3 Well... I'll kill him in a more pleasant way...

With 3000+ views on this and 8000+ on MH, you'd think - even after counting half as re-reads - that you'd hit a hundred comments ._. I know I'm a bit of a hypocrite, but I always try to let an author know that I love their story. :| Maybe it's just me? It's like the conversation I had with _Murkle Mugs_ (sp?). Some authors are jerks and don't even try to thank the readers. I thank you, right? I'm not a bad person, right? And even with short chapters you still get quality, non-shit writing, _riiight? _Come on, you can't even count on your parents for that kind of thing. You can't count on your best friend for that. But I try my hardest... :{

I know this was a long AN, but I just wanted to get those out there. I'm sorry for the long wait for a disappointing chapter, but I'm trying. There's stuff going on that I'd rather not think about. V_V

Scotty.


	18. Twists in My Story & Other Crazy People

**Twists in my Story and Crazy People**

Their formal name is _Massholes _and they earned that name by notoriously driving like shit.

I think the only thing worse than a Masshole is an _Irish_ Masshole because then not only are they shitty drivers, but they're easily agitated soulless-gingers. It's possibly the worst combination ever concocted and whoever the idiot was who allowed those freaks of nature to come into existence was the _biggest_ idiot ever to walk the face of this planet.

See, Arlene was crying. So naturally like the nice guy I am I wanted to help her out and I got in my car which I parked conspicuously down the street before I found Arlene sobbing her eyes out on me.

And here we are, in my car (shit that rhymed) and this dumbass Massachusetts-plated dude in front of us is such a douche I could shoot him. He's been driving like my grandma. Or worse; he's driving like my uncle. Dude is the worst driver ever. He is insane. Constantly goes at least twenty mph over the speed limit or slams on the breaks just to piss off the person behind him. It's okay when he does it, but when it's someone from Massachusetts I want to kill them.

Needless to say driving back to my flat was slightly more than annoying. It was more like wanting to light a baby on fire.

That sounds like fun right about now.

I pull up to my apartment and yank my key forcefully out of the ignition. I look over at Arlene, whose head is hung and hair is falling in long layers over her shoulders. Her antennas are gone still. Did she get them cut? She looks so pretty, but so sad. Her cheeks are red from crying. Her lower lip is quivering. I would reach out and help her, but I don't know how. I don't think I've ever been good at comforting someone who was upset. I wish I could do something for her. I know, I know—I barely know her. Maybe because she's Isa's sister I feel obligated to help her out. (Speaking of Isa, where the hell has he been lately? I'm not too happy about him disappearing.) Arlene is in a train wreck and I feel like I should help her out of the rubble. Why, wouldn't you? Why would you just leave someone to die?

Can you say _hyp-o-crite?_ Says me who killed Cloud Strife's parents and laughed promptly after. Says _me_ who asked their friend to light them on fire and let them die. Wow.

In retrospect, dying and coming back to life is real fucking weird. I guess I'm glad I'm back, though. Sort of. I suppose. I don't really think about it.

I throw open the door and step out. My back cracks when I straighten it; it hurts a lot. My feet are asleep. My hair is spiked out its mind from humidity. I look like a lion.

Roar. Do me I'm sexy. (Insert wink here.)

I walk around to the other side of my car, stretching out my popping spine as I do so. I pull on the handle to the passenger side door and peek in at Arlene, worried about what would happen if I opened it all the way. Would she fall out like a blow-up sex doll? Her skirt would fall up and her hair would get messy and her face would be flushed. I can almost picture that happening.

…I am not a pedophile! Stop giving me that look! Yeah, you know what look I'm talking about: the one that says, "Yeah, you're a lunatic." I'm not a lunatic! I just have strange thoughts sometimes. Who doesn't?

YOU are the pedophile!

I close Arlene's door, not wanting to carry her to my apartment. It's on the third floor and we don't have an elevator so I have to walk anyway. Once I get up there I'll start thinking about what to do with her. For now I'd like to change out of these clothes or take a nap. Aw yeah, a nap sounds really good. Just strip down to boxers and lay on the couch. Turn on the TV; watch some Family Guy, n jack off. Those all sound _so awesome. _

Inside the building's foyer I stand, staring directly above me at the stairwell.

_The world stops. I mean, it completely halts in its rotation and all there is that is breathing and living is me and this radiant boy. He is pretty short, but who cares? That look on his face tells me that we are experiencing the exact same thing. He knows what I am feeling because he is having it too. And like in an effing movie, I suddenly want him more than anything else in the world…_

I remember when I met Roxas. I hardly see him anymore, but meeting him… knowing him… it's been the best time of my life. Every time I think of him my heart beats a little faster. My thoughts dig a little deeper. I never like being apart from him. Even when I act like I'm not thinking about him, there's always that piece of me that wants him so desperately in my arms. Even when I act like everything is all right and I do not mind being away from me or when I am around someone like Naminé… I _always_ keep Roxas in mind and in spirit.

I sigh and trudge up the stairs sluggishly. Maybe I should have just stayed in the car and gone to sleep in there; at least Arlene wouldn't be alone. Ugh. I feel disgusting. I want to throw up. When I get up to my door, I put the key in the lock and let myself in. I look around. Everything is still in the same place. I have more messages on the answering machine, but other than that everything is unchanged.

Fabulous.

I groan and kick the door shut then toss my tired, weak, Jell-O body onto the plush couch, and close my eyes. After a couple seconds cuddling with comfort, I begin to doze off.

Then a bullet whizzes past my head.

"HOLY SHIT!" I scream, shooting up, gaping at the hole in the back cushions of _my_ couch! My jaw hits the floor. What is this? What the hell! Someone had a gun and it had a silencer on it because the only way I can tell someone just tried to shoot my fucking face off is that the bullet barely missed me!

I roll off the couch to the floor with a thud. Ouch. I struggle to get to my feet, using the couch as a support so I can make it up. When I _am_ up, I sway a little. Aw damn. The room is spinning. It feels like someone is driving the blunt end of a nail into my temple and enjoying my pain thoroughly. I'm way too weak to do this. I really want to lie back down and go to sleep, but that doesn't seem like an option at this very moment.

I shake my head, flap out my hands to regain full movement of the numb limbs. I stand against the wall so that no one can get me from behind.

_Ha. If it was Roxas I wouldn't mind._

I blink and in that instant another bullet comes screaming at me. I duck as quickly as possible trying to avoid it. Success. I also catch a glimpse of a shaded figure holding out a gun. They don in all black with the prominent hand outstretched and head tilted. The hair is in a long ponytail. The trigger is pulled again.

I drop to the floor and roll away to avoid it. Why do I suddenly wish my uncle Xigbar was here? He can shoot well. So can I, but I don't have a—wait, yes I do!

I reach my arm under the boxy end table beneath which I keep a very special toy.

Hello, Mr. .375 Magnum.

I pull it out carefully, trying not to harm it. It was a gift from my sharpshooting uncle. He gave it to me when I was younger. Why did I not use this before I died? This thing is a beast. I love it.

I aim. "Yo bitch," I say with my _gangsta_ voice. I cock my head to the side and smile. What I wouldn't give to just blast the guy's head off. "I don't know what you're doing in my house, but you're not getting out alive," I say pleasantly. I pull the trigger, kicking back.

WHOA that thing packs a punch.

The dude just moves out of the way of the speeding bullet. His gun falls from his hand. He holds up his hands. What, is that supposed to be a white flag? He thinks I'm just gonna stop shooting at him when he tried to kill me? IMA FUCKIN KILL THAT BITCH!

I don't hesitate to pull the trigger again, striking him right in the arm. He yelps in pain. Yes! You better be in pain!

"Will ya stop tryin' to kill me, Ax?"

I raise an eyebrow and take extremely cautious steps forward. My jaw hits the floor harder than I think it ever has before. I think I am going to need surgery after it. "Xiggy? What the fuck!"

My uncle Xigbar steps out of the shadows, clutching his bullet wound. He releases it momentarily to rip off a piece of his plain black shirt. He wraps the cloth around the hole tightly, skillfully managing his injury. He intently focuses on protecting his arm while I stand there with the Magnum practically pointed at his head. Realizing this, I lower it, setting it down on the floor.

I then realize something else. I just shot my uncle.

"Xig, are you okay?" Guiltily, I push sweaty hair out of my eyes. "I didn't know it was you!"

"Same thing, kiddo," he grumbles, wincing. "Ah, fuck this hurts. Did ya really have to shoot me?"

I flail my arms frantically. "Dude I just told you I didn't even know it was you!"

"Still, it was totally uncalled for," my uncle mutters.

I groan, exasperate and rub my forehead. "What are you even doing here? You live in New Jersey! And more importantly WHY THE HELL WERE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?"

Xigbar waves his hand and shakes his head. "I'm here. That's all that matters. And I didn't shoot you, either, which is _way_ better news than had I have killed you."

My jaw hits the bottom floor of my apartment building it drops so low. "Can you just tell me why you tried killing me, Xig?'

Xigbar's brow furrows and assists him in a nasty glare. He sneers and grits his teeth. "It's not my place to say, kid."

"But Xigbar, I—"

I'm interrupted by a gunshot and paint chips from the ceiling falling onto my head along with other pieces of the drywall. I yank on my fiery hair. "What the FUCK could it be now?" I scream, whipping around and coming face-to-face with a handgun pointed directly at my forehead. I blink.

Oh shit.

A man with waist-length jet black hair is standing before me, his golden, eyes dim and void of all emotion. But his eyes are more than voided; they are _dead_. It's like someone stole everything he loved from him. He's wearing a black undershirt and matching pants with funky gold boots with pointy toes. And he has on a long red cloak covering up at least ninety percent of his body. His face is soft and somewhat effeminate, but everything else about him is icy cold like the death in his eyes.

"You didn't fulfill your end of the bargains," the man's deep, scratchy voice mutters. His eyes pointedly watch Xigbar. "You didn't kill him."

"As if I'm gonna kill my own nephew!" Xigbar retorts, folding his arms over his built chest. He snorts.

The man whips out a second gun—this one a simple pistol—and aims it lazily at Xigbar. "You know too much. Direct orders said if one of us disobeys the other has to eliminate him before he can interfere with the plan."

I raise an eyebrow, momentarily forgetting about the gun in my face. _Plan? What plan?_

Xigbar grimaces and shakes his head. "I thought better of you, Valentine. I didn't think you would turn on the good guys."

"The good guys?" 'Valentine' appears to be pondering this. He tilts his head. A mess of his poker straight hair falls to the side, cascading much like a female's would. "What defers _good_ from _bad_?"

"The fact I'm not pointing a gun at an innocent person," Xigbar says meaningfully. His eyes are drooping a little. Is he… upset?

"You signed up for it knowing the same details that I did. You decided to participate."

Xigbar frowns. "Vincent, you know better than I do about being a traitor—a _deserter_." The word sounds disdainful as he it slips out of his mouth agitatedly. He bends down slowly, cautiously. He lifts his sharpshooter off the floor and rises back to his feet. He sighs deeply.

Vincent turns away sharply. His eyes avert from my uncle and I. Is it me, or are his eyes welled up with tears? He looks like he is about to cry. "Yes."

"What's one more turn on the bad guys, Vincent? You don't think you could turn yourself around one more time for the sake of the innocent?"

"Like you're any better than I, Sharpshooter; you knew that signing on with the Schemer would mean serious business and possible moral repercussions. This is just paying the consequences for what you did," Vincent states easily. He shakes his head and glares at my uncle and me.

Oh dear god. Please don't let him look at me like that. Please, Lord, I know I keep continuously, annoyingly ask you for things involving getting me out of extreme positions, but just one more time for me God. From here on out I'll take care of myself. I'll never ask you for anything else ever again. For true this time. I swear on the life I was given back by some ridiculous force that brought me back from the dead when I pleaded Strife to kill me.

One more time for me, please?

A phone rings. With a Bullet For My Valentine song? What the hell?

_The tank is empty let it dry. I'm suffering._

Vincent blinks a few times and the two of us awkwardly lock eyes for a few seconds. He looks like he's about to break and shoot one of us, not in happiness but in fear. Weird how I thought more of this guy just now. Between both of us a lot is conveyed.

_Vincent, I don't know you, but please don't kill me. If you have any sense of right and wrong, don't kill me._

He peaks one raven brow. _Give me one good reason why I shouldn't._

I glance and nod in the direction of his phone and smile sheepishly. _You might want to pick that up._

He reaches into his pockets hidden beneath his crimson cloak and pulls out an old school flip phone. He holds it up to his pale ears. Whoa, they are pierced? He has tiny gold hoops in the left one. I look at the right ear and that one is pierced as well. The gold gleams in the dim lighting.

"Hello?" he answers the phone blandly. "What…?"

I tap my foot, shaking with fear and anxiousness over the moment. My heart is throbbing a mile a minute in my chest, begging to be torn out of my chest and thrown out into a boiling flame. If I do die again today, I think I would die alone. I already feel alone. In my heart, I _am _alone. I have no one, I have nothing. My life has been purposeless. _I_ am purposeless.

Vincent hangs up his phone and pushes it into his pocket. He twirls both guns and hides them in hilts on his thighs. He pivots on his heel and heads for the door. He pauses to look over his shoulder and says, "Sharpshooter. Change in plans. Bring the boy."

Xigbar roughly grabs my forearm as if he didn't just get shot and starts dragging me along with him as he follows Vincent out my apartment. He slams the door shut, not bothering about bringing a key with him.

"Xig, what's going on?" I ask him.

No response.

"Xigbar, what the hell is going on?" I yell at him as he tugs me down the stairwell. He turns around and sucker punches me in the gut, knocking the wind right out of my diaphragm. I almost throw up. I hesitantly give in, unable to go against his brute strength.

"Don't ask questions. Just be thankful for your life."

X

Cloud runs a hand through his hair and looks down at his sleeping cousin. His eyes are shut tight as if he's in the middle of a nightmare. His body is curled up in the blankets, knuckles white from clutching the edges. He's whimpering and whining. Cloud rubs the boy's forehead, pushing the dirty bangs off the boy's forehead.

_Vincent… _Cloud stares out the nearby window. Thoughts race through his head, but his most desired wish echoes clearly. _I hope you make the right choice this time._

* * *

**A/N:** Dudes and dudettes, I am _so_ sorry for the long wait on this chapter. You know how I said I lost all inspiration for it? Well... I'm still pretty blank, but I think I'll be able to finish it. I have just enough motivation to get 'er dun. I know it's not extremely long like I was hoping it to be, but I think I'll be able to update for you within the next three days. I'm very happy with how this chapter came out. I really like it. And right now I'm hungry and sweaty and don't particularly care what you think! :D

Finally, 100 reviews. For the love of God I had to drag it the hell out of you! You couldn't just be nice and review, huh? I suppose not. I really have to work for it, don't I? Is it because this story secretly is starting to suck or something. I'm getting iritated with how bad this is looking. When I finish this, I'll be starting a new story. **The summaries and the poll are on my profile. **Please go on there and vote for me? I'm having a very difficult time deciding. Once I have it chosen it'll be even easier to keep writing this!

Thank you for getting this to a hundred reviews. I'm sorry for the late update, though... not really. x]

I'm now on deviantart, though :O The link to that is on my profile as well. I put up some pictures I took and MSN RP convos I did with me as... people and xMisaki-chan as Zexion. She's almost always my Zexion. Hahaa. It's pretty amusing. Also, I'm going to be putting some of my drawings up, too. I think after this chapter, you could take this as my warning. Don't keep depending on me. I'm a shotty writer.


	19. Tralalaaa

**The A/N to End all A/Ns**

**A/N**: It's been… a long time since I've worked with FFN to say the least. It's been a long time since I've written quite a few of these stories. So to do everyone a favor, I'm going to put this note up on all the old stories that were going to be updated and mention the condition of each. Sounds like a plan to me. In the meantime, I'd like to thank everyone who's ever taken the time to review a LIT story. It's been a decent road that I hope to hop back on this season, inspired by my good friend _FreeKiwi_. If you've never read his stories, you should. They're sights for sore eyes, lemme tell ya.

Anyway, I'm sure a lot of the people that used to read my stories are gone by now and it might only be new people that read this note, but no matter who you are it doesn't matter. Because we all have one thing in common…

FAAAANFICTIOOOONNNN. (Trollolololzors?)

Without further ado, I give you the plans! Going in order from oldest update to newest with these stories. Blasts from the past are win!

**X**

Shades of Destiny: 99.999% chance this will never be updated again. Marking it as complete as I have a new videogame love that is NOT Riku sadly. This story was fun for a little bit but I didn't even like it's parallel-sequel that I'd written first so to be honest it's probably better that it never gets updated.

80 Days of You: I'd originally been writing this with a friend of mine whom I'm not longer in close contact with. I miss her terribly since she's moved but I guess this is just the way things go. Marking it as complete, never updating.

Defining Alive: Our Pact: This story was the _definition_ of planning and not following through. Believe me…I have an entire outline for the series sitting somewhere on my computer. If you want the outline for the series or would like to take the outline and write the story from here on out the way you'd like, feel free to inbox me and be my guest. It was a good idea but the odds of me updating it are low… Then again since I've been a twisted fuck lately it might come back. Who knows.

Muse: Marking as complete. Not updating. Nuff said.

Or Never: I'm relatively sure that this story, if this note gets read, will be the only thing anyone cares about. It was a good run of a story, but my writing style has changed a lot since the original _Matchstick Houses_ and even _Or Never_ itself. I can't guarantee I won't come back and try to fix the whole thing or come back and finish it in my new style. Not marking it as complete because in my head it's not. It still hasn't reached the end. QQ

Fad: I didn't even like writing this. Marking as complete. Never updating.

Ink: See above.

Country Gentleman: I liked this idea. Might come back to it. The short chapters meant I could write it in short spurts and not feel guilty about it.

My SVS: And here's where you'll start thinking, "BUT CARA/SCOTTY/WHOEVER THE HELL YOU ARE! I THOUGHT SVS WAS OVER!" I'll be more than obliged to say, "Yes, random awkward fan, it is. But it's very, _very_ possible I'll continue with the story based off of the true ending, _Wishful Thinking_ (if anyone remembers that. It's been a fucking year). Everyone thought that the first ending was the legitimate one. So did I, to be honest. But looking back on it, if I want to continue this story it _will _be, for a fact through the final ending that I offered of the story. Shit. I already have plans.

New Stories to Possibly Come!

_Perfect World:_ While I've been gone, I've been playing Perfect World International and private servers of PWI. If you know anything about it, I'm on Dreamweaver for PWI, PWBD, and PWV as well as PWR. _In a Perfect World_ would essentially be the true stories of what I did over Summer 2011 and my time on PWBD. It's actually rather dramatic, sad, and heartwarming. You'd be surprised. o.o So I think that'd be a fun tale to share with the world.

_Final Fantasy X/X-2:_ I don't have a title because I haven't really worked on it much yet. It's kind of something I dabble with between hours of fighting Evrae e.e But it could easily become more than that and most likely will.

_Kingdom Hearts:_ YEAH BABY. That's what you wanted to hear, right? It's all about Kingdom fucking Hearts, man. Is it going to be yaoi? Probably not. The relationship I'm currently in reminds me a lot of Roxas and Namine when it comes to characters. So if I come back the stories most likely _won't_ be the AkuRoku you know and love. D: And since I actually dislike Kairi odds are there won't be a SoKai going on there. She reminds me of a typical teenage dumb bitch and it's _so_ aggravating!

**X**

Thank you so much for reading this note if you did. I hope to reconnect with the FF community and see what's been going on. I went back and read some old stories recently that reminded me what it was all about and why I enjoyed it so much.

Authors that managed to do this without even realizing it include **Verovex, FreeKiwi, **and **XShiori-chanX. **Gosh I don't even know if two out of the three are still on here anymore :( It's been so long.

See you on the other side, readers. And if you ARE reading this note, thank you. I love you. o.o


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